


New Years Resolutions

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: So Much Trouble [22]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Dancing, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Discipline, Dominance, F/M, M/M, Manna Juice, Non-Sexual Age Play, Peter is Not the Little, Power Imbalance, Sex Pollen, Spanking, Starker D/s, Submission, paddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Read at your own risk- Spanking Inside!  Peter watches but does not participate in non-sexual age play.~~~“God, I feel like I’m sending him off to summer camp,” complains Mr. Stark.  He glares at Peter and points a finger.  “Don’t bring back poison ivy.”Pepper laughs, “He’ll be fine.  He’s been looking forward to this all week.”“That doesn’t help, with the- gah- feeling like I’m sending him off to summer camp,” glowers Mr. Stark.Peter smiles at him and says, “But it’s true, Mr. Stark.  I have been looking forward to this all week.  Go.  Have fun with Pepper.  And the, uh, President.”“I told him I have an intern,” mutters Mr. Stark.  “But noooo.”  He glares around the room before muttering, “Hawking got to bring plus two.”
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: So Much Trouble [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562707
Comments: 94
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks go out to the TW Cheerreading crew on the WriterBuddies Discord server (link at the end) and my Beta Supreme Team: jf4m and mindwiped. THANKS GANG! 
> 
> All remaining errors are being blamed on Coronavirus, I can no longer take responsibility for way this bullshit fries my brain.
> 
> NOT ENDGAME COMPLIANT. (Let's be real here, this AU is barely MCU compliant.)
> 
> For prudes, these are fictional characters and I've double checked, no one actually has a skeevy real-life relationship or gets in trouble and gets a healing spanking as a result of this series, so, like, relax. No one is going to get hurt. They're not real.

“God, I feel like I’m sending him off to summer camp,” complains Mr. Stark. He glares at Peter and points a finger. “Don’t bring back poison ivy.”

Pepper laughs, “He’ll be fine. He’s been looking forward to this all week.”

“That doesn’t help, with the- gah- feeling like I’m _sending him off to summer camp_ ,” glowers Mr. Stark.

Peter smiles at him and says, “But it’s true, Mr. Stark. I have been looking forward to this all week. Go. Have fun with Pepper. And the, uh, President.”

“I told him I have an intern,” mutters Mr. Stark. “But noooo.” He glares around the room before muttering, “Hawking got to bring plus two.”

“Different administration,” chuckles Pepper. “And look, Peter’s not disappointed in the least!”

Peter lets his grin crack just a little bit wider because, yeah, that’s _absolutely_ true. Kevin’s boys have all assured him that this is going to be an excellent New Year, and he has some plans of his own for making sure they all have a ridiculous amount of fun. They start with a Lord of the Rings lego set packed in luggage. Honestly, it takes up most of his luggage. He’s only going for the two nights, after all.

“They’re going to sugar him up, fill his head with stories about me, and then send him home all hyper,” predicts Mr. Stark.

Peter sure hopes so.

“Stop, let him have fun. You promised Kevin they’d get to spend more time together after the fiasco of the Charity Ball, anyway. This is perfect,” Pepper reminds him as Happy slows the limo.

“Well, I’m walking him up,” declares Tony. Pepper sighs and Peter smiles at her, rolling his eyes. Happy opens the trunk and pulls out Peter’s suitcase while Peter unlocks the door.

“Peter,” says Pepper softly, and Peter’s head whips back to look at her, on the far side of the limo, looking dressed to impress and frilled to kill already, in a smart white skirt suit and matching heels that put her taller than Mr. Stark when she stands. “Have fun,” she chides him. “Have fun, and listen to Kevin. Call if you need us.”

“Yeah, listen to Kevin,” mocks Mr. Stark, pushing on Peter’s shoulder while Peter gives Pepper a shy smile and pulls the door handle. “Like that’s gonna be the problem. Say goodbye, _sweetheart_.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Potts,” Peter calls, stepping out, Mr. Stark immediately behind him.

“You’re going up?” asks Happy, clearly surprised.

“Oh, stop, don’t- with the judgy,” snaps Mr. Stark irritably. “Grab the suitcase, Trouble.”

“I’ll wait right here, then, in this _no parking zone_ ,” Happy calls at them.

Peter’s not really surprised when Mr. Stark doesn’t even deign to respond.

In the elevator, Mr. Stark mutters, “You’re _my_ favorite toy. No one else gets to- to- put you on their shelf, are we clear?”

Peter laughs, as he’s laughed at every single black warning Mr. Stark has given him all morning. “Mr. Stark, it’s _Kevin_.”

“Yeah, well, he’s been collecting for longer than you’ve been alive,” grumbles Mr. Stark, as the elevator stops.

“He won’t get me,” Peter assures him, rolling his eyes and stepping out, dragging the suitcase behind him.

The first thing he sees is the comfortable, familiar, warm face of Kevin, standing in the entry way in an outfit that screams This Is My Day Off, And I Am Taking It.

“Not that I wouldn’t be delighted, but Peter, sweetie, how many cherries can you possibly have left to even _tempt_ an old man?” asks Kevin, opening his arms wide. Peter crashes into them, loving how Kevin’s arm wrap around him in welcome. “Oh, there’s our little Trouble, so glad you could come, Peter,” sighs Kevin.

“Mine,” growls Tony. “He’s mine, and if you-”

Kevin and Peter both laugh. “Separation anxiety, dear friend?” teases Kevin. “He’ll be fine. And if he’s not, I’ll spank or spoil him until he‘s all better again.”

Peter feels a little thrill at that thought, at the contract they’d negotiated.

“You do not deviate one iota from what you signed,” grunts Mr. Stark.

Kevin’s eyes are twinkling as he says, seriously, “Have I _ever_ , my friend?”

“Not once,” agrees Mr. Stark begrudgingly. Peter slides out of Kevin’s arms at the look in Mr. Stark’s eyes, dark and heated, and moves as if drawn to stand in front of Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark continues to just stare at him, making Peter’s heart race with all kinds of thoughts. Mr. Stark reaches out and touches the necklace resting on the front of Peter’s shirt, tap the pendant dangling from it, as he says quietly, “But this one is perfect. No one can resist him.”

Peter can’t breathe. Is he having a stroke? He’s too young to die.

“I think you’ll find that experience is singular,” chuckles Kevin, turning to shout, “All right, mob, they’re saying good-bye and then you can come swarm him.”

There are shouts and the sounds of skidding feet in the distance.

“Buffaloes,” sniffs Kevin.

“Well,” says Mr. Stark at last, “ _I_ couldn’t resist him, anyway.” He leans forward, and Peter leans forward eagerly, and then there’s the kind of kissing Peter loves best, the possessive, forceful kind that has him up on tiptoes and rocking back, at intervals.

“Ooooh,” begins Eddie, but there’s another thumping noise and he ends, weakly, with, “oomph.”

Mr. Stark growls into the kiss, “You better behave, if I find out Kevin had to lift _one finger_ to stop you from doing something-”

“Yeah, yes, yes, Mr. Stark,” breathes Peter. “Yes, I know, backside burning for a week. Best manners, party manners, I promise. You’re going to be late.”

“It’s my plane,” Mr. Stark informs him. His hands, traveling along Peter’s frame to wrap him tightly, declare, _this is mine, too_ , in a language maybe only Peter can translate. Eventually, though, he releases Peter and gives him a shove backward. “Okay. You stay there or I’m taking you with, and the FBI always gets shitty about it when I pack things I’m not supposed to.”

“I’ll have fun, Mr. Stark. You have fun, too,” Peter tells him gently.

“Eddie, you keep your hands-” begins Mr. Stark, taking a step back into the elevator.

“Oh, ew, Mr. Stark,” interrupts Eddie. “I’d die first, no offense, Peter. Way too young for me.”

“I love you,” Peter says softly.

“Love you, too, Trouble,” Mr. Stark tells him, pushing the button. “Behave.”

“Oh my God, did he just say he _loves_ you?” gasps Dylan.

And then Peter is being mobbed by Eddie and Hunter and Dylan, Eddie grabbing his suitcase and demanding, “What did you bring? This is heavy, you brought something,” while Hunter and Dylan both attempt to hug him at the same time.

“Boys,” says Kevin quietly. All three freeze, Eddie declaring, “What? I’m helping!” in an injured tone of voice.

“Rules first, then you can take him away,” says Kevin firmly.

“But he _signed the contract_ ,” protest Dylan. “He- he knows the rules!”

“Rules _first_ , young man,” says Kevin.

“I can do rules,” says Peter. He’s read the contract so much, because it’s so weird, having a _contract_ to spend a weekend with friends. It feels unreal, has felt unreal since the first phone call between Mr. Stark and Kevin, earlier in the week. “Number one, listen and respect Kevin’s words and- and warnings. Number two, enter private rooms by invitation, and I know the map, I- I know the map, Kevin, I do.” Kevin nods, clearly willing for Peter to continue. “Number three, honesty is the best policy. And, uh, number four-” Peter squirms a little, because this one was Mr. Stark’s addition- “try not to, uh, cause trouble.”

“And do you agree to follow those rules, young man?” asks Kevin archly.

Peter’s mouth goes dry. “Y-yes, sir?”

“Because what are the consequences we agreed to, Peter?” prompts Kevin.

“Uh,” says Peter, because the words are so- how are there not better words, that don’t make him feel like a naughty three year old? How are there not _adult_ words, for this? “That y-you’ll call Mr. Stark, or I’ll, I’ll have to leave, or, um, that,” he can’t look away from Kevin, but he also can’t _look_ at Kevin, so he compromises by closing his eyes and saying quickly, “you-can-spank-me-if-I-need-it.”

“If we agree you need it,” corrects Kevin severely. “And do I need to check in with Mr. Stark about that spanking?”

“N-no, sir,” says Peter, opening his eyes, a little affonted. “No, we- we can- I told you, I trust you.” That _Mr. Stark_ trusts Kevin goes without saying, and God, hearing them talk about their previous joint contracts for playdates, and all the many options they’d used in the past, made Peter three parts fascinated and one part intimidated.

“Good boy,” praises Kevin. “There, now that’s done. We all know our scorecard. But you boys will do your very best to keep his butt in the safety zone, won’t you?”

The boys all nod solemnly before Eddie snorts, “Because you’ll blister ours right after his, we know, Daddy, c’mon, please can we _go?”_

Kevin eyes them and Peter’s so glad he’s _with_ them, because all three of the other boys are also squirming a little under Kevin’s gaze. There’s something about being with these particular friends that is such a relief, to see people respond the way he responds, to realize _he’s not alone._ “Go,” he dismisses them. “Go have fun. I’ll be by around lunch,” he calls to their backs, as Dylan and Hunter grab one of Peter’s arms apiece and they shuffle through the hallways.

“Ack, I hate how he gets with someone new in the house,” hisses Eddie. “He’s always so much stricter until everything shakes out.”

“We don’t mind it,” Hunter tells Peter when Peter flinches. “You’re totally worth it. But, yeah. If you wanted to break any rules, please, please, break them at another time.”

Peter laughs. “Oh my God, are you kidding me?”

Eddie stops in front of a door and announces, “Here’s yours, Peter, the bathroom is attached and the rumpus room is right across the hall.”

Peter consults his mental map, and all of that makes sense. He’s in the Master Guest Suite, from the map. 

Eddie shoves his suitcase inside and then says, “Drones! On the roof, c’mon, Peter, you can fly Bryce’s!”

“Where _is_ Bryce?” Peter asks. 

“Oh, he’s little, and we thought- you didn’t seem like, _cool_ , with the idea,” says Hunter, flushing a little. “So he’s hanging out with Daddy in his rooms, or whatever.”

Peter thinks quickly and then says, firmly, “It’s your house and if- if I had a, like, kid brother, he’d love the drones, I bet.” Mr. Stark had talked extensively about the things Peter might see the other boys say or do over an extended weekend, and he’d been very firm about the _no kinkshaming_ part.

“Oh, he goes ballistic,” laughs Dylan. “He’s the youngest one out of all of us- when he goes little, he goes _little_ , but I mean, Daddy’s had guys who actually go younger, but at least Bryce can talk, even though-”

“You’re babbling,” Eddie points out bitingly. “We’ll tell Daddy at lunch that, _if Bryce is okay with it_ , Peter’s fine.”

Lunch is probably an hour away. That seems… like an acceptable amount of time for someone to be kept in their room, or- or something. Peter shrugs it off and grabs for the blue drone and remote. “Let’s go,” he says. 

Hunter whoops and opens the door to the patio. They all sprint to the edge and launch their drones at about the same time, and Peter thinks smugly that he’s the only one who thought about how _cold_ it is in New York. He still hasn’t taken his jacket and hat off. He’s totally going to win the first round.

“Hey!” shouts Eddie, already enraged. “Hunter, Dylan just _cheated_ , did you see that?”

~~~

Kevin raps at the glass with his knuckles and they all groan, but, Peter is relieved, they all immediately recall their drones, too. It’s been fun, playing laser tag and racing the drones, but they’re almost out of charge, anyway. They take a lot of juice to stay afloat in the wind off of the Atlantic.

“Come warm up with some soup,” Kevin tells them, as they stamp their feet on the rugs and bump into each other, entering the penthouse again. “Sandwiches, too.”

“Oh, hey, Peter said he won’t mind if Bryce is feeling little,” says Hunter. 

Kevin turns and lifts an eyebrow at Peter.

Peter drops the drone with cold-stiffened fingers and bends to pick it up, mumbling, “Mr. Stark said, uh, we went through, uh, age-play and that stuff and it, I mean, seems tame? Sir?”

Kevin hums and then turns on his heel, leading the way back to the front entryway. “Coats, boys, and shoes. Dylan, you can go get the mop and take care of the tracks.”

“Yes, sir,” says Dylan pleasantly enough. 

Eddie makes a whipping noise and Dylan shrugs his shoulders to indicate he doesn’t care. Peter wouldn’t care either, he decides. Eddie’s still an ass, because _someone_ has to mop up or the hardwood’ll be damaged. It’s nice that it can just be decided, and no one has to worry about whose job it is, Peter thinks, following Hunter and Eddie into the kitchen. Of course, it’s even nicer at Stark Tower, where the answer has traditionally been, _build a bot for that._

“We’ll have a nice cozy lunch here,” announces Kevin, and whatever’s cooking on the stove smells amazing. “It’s one of Bryce’s zuppas, Peter, warmed up just for us today.”

“Oh, he’ll like that,” says Hunter fondly. “He’ll be so proud.”

“Yes,” agrees Kevin. “Show Peter where the bowls are, sandwiches are in the oven, don’t anyone _burn_ themselves while I go see if he wants to come out for a bit.”

“So, does, like, Bryce decide or does it just hit him?” asks Peter quietly, as Eddie ladles himself a bowl of soup.

“Well, I mean, you can feel it,” Hunter says slowly. “Just like any other craving, like, uh, thirst or hunger or, uh, when you get, you know, _horny_. And Bryce had a bad review at work, he was distracted or something-”

“ _One_ critic,” corrects Eddie in an angry hiss. “ _One_ guy said he overseasoned something a little bit.”

“Well, but, that’s a big deal, to a sous chef,” says Hunter, shrugging. “So I guess he just was feeling anxious, and with your visit- it feels good, being little. You just, you don’t have much to worry about and it’s like a break.”

Eddie nods furiously. “You’re totally in control of yourself, you can pull out at any time,” he says, with a wicked smile. “But yeah, Bryce’s seriously cracking under stress and needed it. I was so glad when Kevin just said of course he’d be little today.”

“He’s super sweet,” Hunter says, a small smile on his lips. “You’ll love him.”

Dylan bursts into the kitchen and declares, “I am starving! Peter, did I tell you that I’m going on a _date_ with Jack next week?”

“You are?” asks Peter, delighted. “Where to?”

“I have no idea, he’s being very evasive,” says Dylan, with a grimace. “Just ‘no tux, but dress nice,’ that’s all I’ve got.”

“ _Obviously_ dinner,” sighs Eddie, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe not,” argues Hunter, smiling at Dylan. “Could take you dancing. Lots of clubs around this town, and he did say he loves the way you wiggle.”

“Jesus, you know he was talking about his ass as he was _hitting_ it,” hoots Eddie, but then he looks at the empty doorway and flinches. “I mean, you know he meant _jiggle wiggle_ , Hunter.”

“You better watch yourself, _Eddie_ ,” hisses Dylan. “Daddy won’t have any problem taking you down a peg if you need it.”

“I don’t need it,” says Eddie, hunching over his plate and soup as Peter slides his bowl and plate onto the table beside him. He sits, bumping Eddie in the shoulder and smiling at the other man. Eddie relaxes a little and says with a smirk, “So, what did you bring? That bag was heavy, Peter!”

“Oh, Captain and Bucky got me some legos for Christmas,” says Peter diffidently. “I figured you guys might want to-”

“The Lord of the Rings set?” demands Hunter.

Peter smiles at him. “Yep!”

“You lucky bastard,” grumbles Eddie. Dylan and Hunter both hiss at him. “Seriously, not at the table, are you an idiot?” whispers Hunter.

Kevin’s voice precedes him, sighing, “Anything I need to sort out in there? Already?”

“No,” they call back, all four of them exchanging glances. Peter will take that swear word to the _grave_. 

“So, dish,” says Dylan abruptly, leaning across the table and winking at Peter, clearly imitating Kevin. “Tell me _everything_ about when you and Mr. Stark started cooing _I love you_ to each other, I about died from the contact high.”

“Oh,” splutters Peter, and then realizes, if there’s a group of people he can _tell that story to_ , it’s this group, in this kitchen. “Well, I’d, we’d- we were on vacation-”

~~~

Peter’s just sitting down with his second bowl of soup when there’s hesitant footsteps in the hallway and he tells himself firmly to _relax_ and _get over it_. Do. Not. Kinkshame, he reminds himself. It’s just Bryce, and he’s just going to be pretending, that’s all. Peter can pretend with a friend, and help his friend feel safe.

“Um,” says Bryce’s voice, and Eddie calls, “C’mon over, baby, I’ve saved a spot for you!”

Hunter jumps up and says, “I’ll get you some soup, baby, you hungry?”

“Ye-es,” says Bryce, hesitant, coming into the kitchen. “Only, where’s Daddy?”

“Right here, pumpkin,” coos Kevin. “Right by Eddie. C’mon sit down, in between us.”

Bryce gets into the kitchen, spots Peter, and dives for Kevin’s back, hiding his face.

Aw, shit, did Peter do something wrong? With like, his face?

Kevin shakes his head at Peter and says, “Aww, are you feeling shy, baby? C’mere, he’s your friend. He’s eating his soup, and you’ll eat your soup.”

“It’s my soup,” squeaks Bryce.

“It is,” Eddie says in a coaxing tone of voice, surprising Peter. “It is, Bryce, and Peter loves it, he’s on his second bowl, come sit down by me.”

Bryce unfolds from Kevin’s back and slides onto the chair next to Eddie, hunching in on himself until Hunter puts the bowl in front of him. “I have a spoon,” Bryce comments.

“You sure do, remember how to use it?” asks Kevin fondly.

Bryce nods, face filled with determination. “I do _not_ need a bib,” he says firmly, but then his lip quivers as he looks anywhere but Peter.

“‘Course not,” says Eddie scornfully. “Who’s my big guy?”

Bryce shoots Eddie a look so full of hero worship that it makes Peter’s throat close. “I am,” concedes Bryce, wiggling a little.

“You are,” agrees Eddie. “Cheers?” he asks, holding out his spoon. 

“Cheers,” chortles Bryce, smacking their spoons together before diving into his soup bowl.

Peter can’t put his finger on it, but Bryce is just a bit messier than he usually is, while eating, a bit careless about if the soup stains his lips. He doesn’t, like, dribble it down his chin, but he doesn’t wipe off the smears.

“So, what’s on the docket for the afternoon, gentlemen?” asks Kevin, looking around the table after wiping Bryce’s mouth with a casual hand and a cloth napkin. “Should I keep the little terror away from your projects, or is it going to be something he can join in on?”

Bryce scowls into his soup and announces, “I will be _careful_ , Hunter.”

“I know you will be, sport,” says Hunter. “Legos, sir.”

“I have legos,” gasps Bryce, his eyes bright and wide.

“And you can bring your legos to the rumpus room,” Dylan tells him. “And we’ll follow our very specific instructions and you can build whatever you want, okay?”

“Eddie has to help me with the wings,” negotiates Bryce, turning those hero-worship eyes on Eddie again. 

“I always will, big guy,” Eddie promises him seriously.

Peter can accept the change in Bryce, it’s _Eddie’s_ transformation that has him staring, open-mouthed. Kevin catches his eyes and smiles proudly and Peter’s mouth snaps shut before he grins sheepishly. “Yes, Peter Parker, there is a reason I keep him in my home, he’s such a sweet man, under all of that toxicity,” Kevin says fondly.

“Who’s a sweet man?” asks Bryce suspiciously.

“Everyone at this table,” Kevin tells him firmly. 

Peter just happens to be looking in Eddie’s direction and catches just a small glimmer of hero worship on _that_ young face, too, looking at Kevin. 

“So, it sounds like a plan, and I like the plan,” says Kevin. “May I be invited to supervise?”

“No telling me no,” says Bryce immediately.

“I think not, try again,” laughs Kevin, poking Bryce in the side. “I will _always_ tell you no when it’s good for you.”

Bryce _giggles_ , and it’s a good sound. Light and free. Peter smiles across the table at him and he smiles back at Peter, his face unguarded and open, innocent. “You won’t tell me no, will you, Peter?” he asks.

“How could I?” Peter says honestly. “You’re way too cute for your own good.”

“Tell me about it,” sighs Hunter.

“Old man,” taunts Eddie.

“Hush, you,” chides Kevin, with a black look at Eddie. He smiles at Hunter. “You’re adorable, too, and you know it.”

Hunter blushes slightly.

“So, how goes the hunt?” Peter asks him curiously.

“Oh, he’s got three more on his string, _already_ , it’s a _scandal_ ,” says Eddie.

“Three strings!” gasps Bryce. “You put them back, you could choke,” he says to Hunter.

“See, it’s when you say stuff like that,” complains Dylan, “and then I don’t know if you’re little or big.”

The table erupts into laughter as Bryce asks, “What? What? What did I say? Eddie?!”

So, it’s weird, but it’s not- not too weird, thinks Peter to himself. Yeah. He can do a whole weekend like this.

They throw Harry Potter on the screen in the rumpus room, because it’s fun and safer for Bryce, Hunter explains apologetically. Peter shrugs. He doesn’t care what they watch. Kevin settles in near the smaller table where Bryce lugs his brightly colored tote of legos, and then the rest of the boys swarm the boxes from Peter’s luggage, laying out the kits and deciding who will build which ones.

It’s a stupid, silly way to spend an afternoon, but it’s also pretty perfect. Eddie, of course, almost comes to blows with Hunter twice, but Kevin intervenes and settles them both with quick words.

“Daddy?” says Bryce hesitantly, as the afternoon races on. He scrubs at his eyes and says, “I don’t- I’m so _tired_.”

“Oh, my, yes,” says Kevin, standing. “C’mon, little man, let’s go nap. You gentlemen, _behave_.”

“Yes, Daddy,” chorus the other three, with Peter saying a second after them, “Yes, Kevin.”

“Good,” mutters Eddie as Kevin herds Bryce ahead of him. “Bryce didn’t sleep at all last night, that I could tell.”

“So, uh, was that okay?” asks Hunter, diffidently, searching for the next piece he needs.

It’s not hard to tell who he’s checking in on. Peter nods. “Yeah, he wasn’t- it was good,” he concludes lamely. “And I’m glad it, uh, helps. He looks really rough.”

Dylan nods at him, smiling, and says, “Yeah, well, rejection is hard, on, like, all of us, I think.”

“Not me,” snorts Eddie, snapping a piece onto the corsair. “If I had to be little every time I got rejected, fuck, I’d never get out of footie pajamas. Bryce’s got so many daddies lined up, though, because he _is_ such a sweet baby boy, no worries about him, Peter. He’ll land pretty soon, and land well, if Kevin’s got anything to say about it.”

“So crass,” sighs Hunter. “It’s not like you don’t have just as many who are looking to straighten you out at play parties. All those bad boy vibes draw ‘em in, too. Plus your stupid face, which is just unfairly attractive.”

“Well, I mean, not as many since Mr. Stark’s little chat,” teases Dylan, winking at Peter. “And all the ones who are sniffing now are _serious_ about it, not just _ticked_ at your bad manners, Eddie.”

Eddie is blushing, Peter realizes, fascinated.

“Does he really have a watch for me?” Eddie mutters at Peter, glancing up quickly and then back to the pile of legos in front of him. “Or is he just _messing_ with me?”

“I don’t think he’s messing with you,” Peter assures him. “But we’ll find out when he comes back.” 

Peter’s hit with a wave of homesickness, suddenly. It must be something about messing around with legos- like back in the day with Ned- or maybe it’s the safety of this house where Bryce can wander around getting his mouth wiped by Kevin. But suddenly he does wish he could see Mr. Stark, even though he’s having fun with the boys. Peter clears his throat and announces, “I’m gonna go get a soda, anyone need anything?”

“Chips,” says Eddie firmly. “Above the fridge, grab one of the variety bags.”

“Nice,” agrees Hunter. Dylan grunts, digging through the odds’n’ends pile of legos, obviously looking for a specific brick.

Peter grabs his phone and checks it while he walks, his heart lifting at the new notification icon.

_Hey, Trouble, you behaving? -TS_

He types, _Yeah. Bldg the sets. Did drone races, had lunch. -PP_

There’s the “…” of Mr. Stark already typing back, strong and steady while he opens the fridge, digging inside for a Coke. He flips up, balancing on the handle of the fridge to grab for the big bag of mini bags, and then flips down, to read

 _Sounds fun. Pep says it’s rude to txt while the President is talking, gtg_ -TS

 _It IS rude. -PP_ Peter types, shaking his head as he wanders back to the rumpus room.

The rest of the night reminds Peter of sleepovers with Ned, with a dinner of pizzas and more Harry Potter, Bryce tucked sleepily into Hunter’s arms, Eddie cuddling up to Kevin on the recliner, Dylan ignoring everything to finish working on the corsair. And then, on his watch, a sudden beeping tone that makes his heart sink even as he leaps to his feet and starts eyeing up the exits.

“Spider-Man, suit up, we need you in five,” orders the voice of Natasha through the speaker.

“Sir?” he asks Kevin, who has jerked in shock. “I- they- Avengers business, I-”

“Yes, go, go,” says Kevin, his wide eyes matching Eddie’s, matching Dylan’s shocked mouth open, at the table behind them. “Come back quickly. And, uh- _safely_ , Mr. Parker.”

“As soon as I can,” promises Peter, and then he’s running for the balcony, the cowl sliding up over his face and KAREN giving him the most recent status update and coordinates.

~~~

The fight- _fucking_ Loki again- lasts a short time, but clean up of all the little aliens takes _forever_. And then he had to decontam at the Tower, and the suit needs some nano-bot reprogramming- _fuck_ Loki- and then, then he has to debrief with the Captain. When he’s done, he gets the forms from Legal, and even though they take pity on him and say _have it back by January 5th_ , it’s still well past midnight when he finally can check in with Steve and say, “Hey, so, am I good? Can I-?”

“Yeah, yes, yes, Peter, you- go ahead,” says Steve, rubbing a hand over his face. “Go on. Go have fun.”

“You did good,” Bucky tells Peter firmly, looking up from the form he’s filling out.

“Thanks,” Peter says, a little doubtfully. Well, at least there were no major screw-ups, this time. He’d mostly zigged when he should have zigged. Still, it hadn’t been- well. He’d been distracted, that’s for sure, trying to get things done _quickly_ instead of- he acknowledges guiltily- the _best_ way, the most thorough.

“You did good, kid,” repeats Bucky even more sternly. “Now go _be_ a kid, huh? Christ, don’t let- we gotta work on something better than this system, Steve, the kid’s not even old enough to legally drink, we gotta find some way to let him have _actual time off_ -”

Peter feels something rise up in his throat and he says, angrily, “I’m not- I’m fine. I don’t need special consideration, I can handle it-”

“It’s not about handling it or not handling it,” snaps Bucky. “You’ll handle anything, but you shouldn’t _have_ to give up your fun just because Loki gets a bug up his ass or Doom gets a wild hair or-”

“I’m as much an Avenger as anyone-” Peter says, because sure, he’d been playing with legos all day, but that doesn’t mean he’s a _kid_ , okay? He’s not like Bryce, wandering around in footie pajamas getting pizza sauce on his nose and needing to be put down for a nap. Peter _handles_ his shit. 

“No one said that,” Steve sighs. “You did very well, today, Peter.” He puts down the pen and looks up at Peter, his jaw clenching. “You did excellent. As always. We’re lucky to have you on the team, as a full partner and equal. Bucky’s just ticked because you had plans and Loki interrupted them, has nothing to actually do with you, son.”

“Has a lot to do with _him_ , Steve, and you gotta stop acting like he’s not _different_ from us-” snaps Bucky.

Peter can feel his shoulders tense and his fists clench and he’s not sure what he would have said, if Steve hadn’t said, again, turning to look at Bucky, “Enough. Peter, go on. Tell your friends sorry for the interruption, but we couldn’t have gotten that mopped up that fast without you, son. You were the key element in our fast reaction time. I’ll let Bucky gnaw my head off for calling you in when you weren’t on-call, but we needed you, and that’s what my report will reflect.”

Bucky snorts as Peter nods seriously at Steve. Steve smiles back and says, “Go get some rest. Don’t you dare send in a single report tomorrow or the next day.”

“No, sir,” Peter tells him, throwing a sneer at Bucky, who growls wordlessly back at him as he crosses to the door and leaves. 

His super hearing is just tuned in to hear Bucky explode with, “He’s a fucking _kid_ Steve, he was having a goddamn sleepover, there was no _need_ to interrupt his night for this bullshit.”

It makes his fists clench again and he works to relax his jaw as he calls the suit back up and heads for the landing strip at a quick jog.

Fuck Bucky, anyway. 

The guy’s a complete asshole.

~~~

Someone left the balcony doors open for him, and he slips inside quietly. There’s a note taped to the wall labeled _Peter, Read This_ , and it makes him smile as he tugs it down gently.

_We watched on the news! So glad you’re safe- they reported no injuries, whew! Please come into the master bedroom and wake me up, so I know you’re home safe, Peter._

_-Kevin_

His phone, left on the charger, has several missed calls, but if Mr. Stark wanted him, he could have patched through on KAREN. Peter checks the texts and sure, enough, 

_Call me when you get to Kevin’s - TS_

_Doesn’t matter what time you get in -TS_

_He’s not sleeping anyway ;) -PP_

They’re such dorks, but, yeah, Kevin first, then Tony, Peter decides.

He slips through the silent halls with the soft lighting as quietly as he can, until he gets to the master bedroom. He knocks, and hears Kevin’s voice call, “Enter, Peter.”

Peter slips through the door and goes to stand beside the bed as Kevin sits up. The bedroom is done in purples and grays, he notes absently, and smells of lavender. The carpet is a riotous pattern of purple flowers and black and gray and white background swirls, and Kevin is wearing actual flannel pajamas in red and green checks as he waves Peter over to him.

“Hi,” Peter whispers.

“Hey, yourself. You okay?” Kevin checks in, with a yawn and a glance at the clock. 1:38 A.M. it reads. Peter winces. 

“Yeah,” he croaks. “I’m- a few bruises, that’s all.”

“Well, I am very proud of you. Thank you for saving the city, I’m sorry your night was interrupted,” says Kevin sympathetically. 

“No, no, I can handle it, that’s- that’s what we do,” says Peter, but the cheerful words feel a little false, for the first time.

“Yeah, honey, I bet,” says Kevin, and then he opens his arms wide for a hug.

Peter crashes into them, a little awkwardly, and rubs his cheek against the soft warmth of the pajamas. 

“So proud of you,” Kevin tells him, and Peter nods against his chest. “Now, get your cute little butt into a shower, call my old friend and tell him I’ve got you, and then scoot to bed,” Kevin orders, giving Peter a whole-body shake in the hug. “Come crawl in with me if you have trouble sleeping, hon. It’s a big bed and Bryce is in with Hunter tonight.”

Yeah, _never_ , thinks Peter, scandalized. He pulls away from the hug and stands. “Thanks, Kevin,” he whispers.

“Yeah, go call Tony,” reminds Kevin, leaning back into the pillows already.

Peter slips from the room and back down the hall to the guest suite, tripping once on thin air as the adrenaline crash hits his system, hard.

“Call Tony,” he tells Karen, and she obliges by starting the video on the phone as Peter begins to brush his teeth. He’ll start with teeth, call Tony, take a shower, and collapse into bed, he decides. Yeah.

“Hey, Trouble,” says the sleepy voice of Tony, and Peter chokes on toothpaste, or maybe air, or something, his throat closing at the sound of that gravel-filled sleep-smeared voice. 

“Hi, Peter,” says Pepper, so he must be on speaker. He looks down at the phone as Pepper flicks on a light, and there they are. Mr. Stark is stretched out, his head on a pillow, with Pepper tucking her head over his shoulder. His throat aches with need, for Mr. Stark’s arms to be wrapped around him.

“Saw you on the news, watched the whole replay up here in the bathtub,” Mr. Stark tells him, his dark eyes knowing. “You did good, Peter.”

“Yeah, I- I know, Steve said,” says Peter awkwardly, around the toothbrush, before he spits and rinses. He tries a smile. “I’m so tired, though, Mr. Stark.”

“I bet,” Mr. Stark agrees, with a sympathetic smile. “If it’d gone on another fifteen minutes I’d’ve suited up, I was _this close_ -”

“But then you did the thing with the web!” says Pepper excitedly. “It was so _smart_ , Peter, what made you think of it?”

“Well, spiderweb,” says Peter uncomfortably. “I mean, that’s- that’s what they’re designed for, you know?”

“I do,” agrees Mr. Stark, with piercing eyes. “You talk to Kevin? Let him know you’re back?”

“Yeah, yes, right away,” Peter informs him.

“Good,” says Mr. Stark bluntly, eyeing him in a way that makes Peter squirm. 

“What?” asks Peter, finally, under that gaze.

“Well, nothing to worry about tonight anyway,” says Mr. Stark a little mysteriously. “You remember what I said about staying out of trouble, yeah?”

“Mr. Stark,” whines Peter, cheeks flaming. “I’m not gonna-”

“Right,” says Mr. Stark firmly. “Because there are consequences, we agreed to those-”

“Mr. Stark,” protests Peter, rolling his eyes in embarrassment. “Please- I-”

“You did really good,” Mr. Stark tells him, again, like he thinks Peter didn’t hear him the first time. Peter shuffles his feet and glances up at Mr. Stark’s face framed on the screen, surprised that at some point he’d dropped eye contact with the man. “Wish I was there for that post-game adrenaline rush. Go take a shower and sleep it off, huh? We can video again in the morning.”

“Yeah,” sighs Peter. It’s his first post-mission night without Mr. Stark, he realizes with a startle. Even, even before _the kiss_ , he’d- he’d always had Mr. Stark right there, after every mission. Still, he’s so tired, and so gross, under the clothes. Even Kevin had said, “take a shower” like it’s required.

“Call if you can’t sleep, we can turn on the camera and fall asleep abusing presidential wifi,” Pepper offers, and Tony nods, his eyes dark and serious.

“Yeah, I probably won’t need to,” sighs Peter, scrubbing his face. “I’m tired!”

“I bet, you did good work out there, Peter,” says Mr. Stark again. 

Peter nods. Yeah. Sure. He definitely didn’t suck. Even if Bucky thinks he’s not capable of handling it, he _absolutely_ is. Bucky’s just _wrong_.

“Hey, you need me to fly back?” asks Mr. Stark. “Because I can be there in an hour.”

Pepper makes a little noise of protest as Peter rolls his eyes. Yeah, like _that’d_ prove Bucky wrong. “I definitely do not,” he tells Mr. Stark pointedly. “You stay right there.”

“Okay,” sighs Mr. Stark. “Hey, Trouble, you do miss me though, right?”

Peter looks up, shocked, and catches Pepper’s wry smile over Mr. Stark’s shoulder before he makes eye contact with the man and says, “We got most of the lego kits built today and we would have gotten them all done if you’d been here. Bryce was little all day, Mr. Stark, and I- I’d give a dollar to watch you, uh, show me how to- with him. I felt, all, like, awkward, but he was so sweet, Mr. Stark.”

“He is sweet, I’m sure of it,” says Pepper with a fond smile. “He’s probably the sweetest baby Kevin’s had in, what, since Phillip, right, Tony?”

“No one in the world is as sweet as Phillip,” declares Mr. Stark, but makes a face like he’s grossed out. “Yuck. Not my favorite flavor at all.”

Peter’s heart lifts a little, because Mr. Stark tosses him a look that sizzles and Peter realizes _he’s_ Mr. Stark’s favorite flavor.

“Go take a shower, hon,” says Pepper firmly. “Call back if you can’t sleep.”

“Yeah,” agrees Peter, wiping his face. “I’m beat.”

“Goodnight, Trouble,” says Mr. Stark firmly, like he’s declaring a new rule.

“Yes, sir,” Peter promises him, a little breathlessly.

The screen goes black on Mr. Stark’s smile and Peter turns to the shower on auto-pilot, stepping inside and turning the water on. He yelps, then, and tries to escape the cold deluge that hits him, because he’s gotten used to Mr. Stark’s always-the-perfect-temp-point-of-service system at the Tower and the Compound, and apparently he’s completely forgotten how the rest of humanity lives. 

Still, a cold shower takes care of the results of the end of the conversation with Mr. Stark.

He scrubs down and then rubs dry with a towel, tossing it over a hook and walking out into the bedroom to toss on the pajamas he’d packed and crawl into the bed.

He’s so sure he’ll fall into sleep immediately it’s actually kind of infuriating when instead he reviews Bucky’s words for the next two hours, getting angrier and angrier because _Bucky Barnes is an ancient undead asshole who knows nothing about anything_. He honestly has no idea what Steve sees in the jerk.

~~~

It’s still early morning when noise outside his door pries his eyes open.

“Get back from there,” hisses Hunter. “I swear I will _tell Daddy_ , Eddie!”

“What? I’m not going in,” protest Eddie. “I’m just trying to hear if maybe he’s awake or something. He could be hurt, you don’t know, he was in that fight, wasn’t he? Maybe he’s dead in there!”

Someone gasps- probably Bryce, possibly Dylan, if he’s feeling dramatic, Peter concedes, and Peter lifts himself up, shaking his head and then grinning a little. Well, they didn’t stay up watching movies, as he’d expected, but it does feel like every other sleepover he’s done, the slight headache and the over-tired buzz along his limbs. Yup. 

He smiles and calls, “I’m up and I’m _starving_ , please tell me Bryce is up to making breakfast?!”

“Waffles,” shouts Bryce, as the door flies open and all four men bound in, smiling broadly.

“You are so cool!” shouts Eddie, jumping on the bed. “You are _so cool, Peter!”_

Peter grins at him and says, “So you caught that, huh? On the news?”

“Yessssss,” shouts Bryce, mobbing Peter’s other side with a big hug. “I’m going to make our hero so many waffles! With chocolate chips! Or whatever!”

Peter smiles as Hunter and Dylan cheer, too, drifting over to settle on the bed, too.

“You. Are. Flame,” declares Dylan. “Fuego!”

Peter laughs out loud. 

“My favorite superhero, hands down,” Hunter informs him, with a grin. “That thing with the web? Genius.”

“Yeah, Steve said-” begins Peter, feeling a little trickle of pride slide along his spine. He sits up a bit more, starting to feel perkier.

“OH MY GOD YOU CALL HIM STEVE?!” shieks Dylan.

“HE CALLS HIM STEVE!” Bryce shouts back, muffled from where he’s burrowed into Peter’s side.

“That’s his name,” laughs Peter.

“I can’t,” gasps Bryce, lifting his head, his eyes twinkling. “I can’t- you’re _too much_.”

Peter smiles back at them and says, “Like, you knew I was Spiderman. I left you patrol presents,” he laughs.

“YES. BUT YOU CALL HIM _STEVE_ ,” shouts Dylan, shaking him.

They all crack up laughing until Bryce gasps, “Waffles. Let’s go. Patriotic waffles. Strawberry blueberry patriotic waffles with white chocolate, I swear to God.”

They’re ridiculous, but Peter loves it.

~~~

All day long, they build with legos and fly the drones and joke and laugh and it’s great, but there’s a twitch between Peter’s shoulder blades because he just can’t stop thinking about Bucky, saying he can’t _handle_ life as a superhero. He’d probably sneer at Bryce’s pancakes and say Bryce can’t _handle_ being a chef, thinks Peter nastily. They were the _best_ Captain America waffles in history, though, so Bucky’s _wrong_. What an _asshole_.

They complete all of the kits and the other men make Kevin marvel at them, pointing out the details and all the moving pieces. They’re too old to play with them, really play with them, thinks Peter regretfully. He eyes up the other men and wonders if he should leave them behind, but then thinks about how clumsy Bryce had been with the soup spoon and decides _absolutely not_. Eddie’s enthusiasm has already managed to break apart Helm’s Deep twice.

And then it’s time to get ready for the night.

“Costumes,” declares Eddie. “I mean, embrace your gay the Elton John way, Peter!”

“New Years Eve demands glitter,” Dylan says seriously. “And eyeliner.”

“And wigs,” enthuses Hunter.

“Or at least _style_ your hair,” sighs Bryce, shaking his head. “Be daring! Be bold!”

Kevin chuckles at Peter’s panicked look and says, “I’ll leave you to it, gentlemen.”

“Kevin, no, they’re- I’m not a drag queen-” gasps Peter.

Kevin chuckles before sashaying out of the huge bathroom at the end of the boy’s hallway. “Which is just a _pity,_ Mr. Parker,” floats back behind him, making Eddie and Dylan cackle a little. 

“Please let me give you eyeliner,” begs Hunter. “You can borrow Eddie’s silver sequins vest and I swear to God, you can squeeze into Bryce’s leather leggings, please, Peter, you cannot wear _pajamas_ on New Year’s Eve in this household. Not when Daddy’s inviting a few friends as guests.”

“No photos,” groans Peter.

They all pout back at him.

“Maybe one,” he concedes.

As one, they brighten, and then, like an eight-armed octopus named Fabulous, they _get to work_ getting him ready for New Years Eve in Kevin’s penthouse.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter stares in the mirror. 

“You are so hawt,” Bryce gushes, putting on a pair of magnetic false lashes twice the size of Peter’s. “I can never wear those leggings again, you’ll have to take them.” His hand reaches out and pats Peter’s butt in a friendly way, which, given how much he’d had to help to get the leggings to peel on, is honestly fine with Peter at this point. He’s _immune_ to Bryce’s hands on his lower half. They’ve literally shoved and tugged and re-situated every single inch of Peter and he’s immune, now.

“You are the baddest bitch,” agrees Hunter, making a kissing face and fixing the line around his lipstick with a careful pinky finger. He flips his long black wig over his shoulder, the silver-white feathers clipped into it looking like winking sparks of electricity as it falls. His white leather jumpsuit looks amazing, Peter concedes, and somehow he looks even more masculine with the delicacy of his features drawing the eye thanks to the careful make-up styling of Eddie.

Peter looks at his own bare chest- abs on full display- and vest, with black leather leggings hugging every muscle there, too, and the eyeliner and fake eyelashes that make his eyes look huge, and squirms uncomfortably.

“No shoes, we’ve all decided,” says Eddie, re-entering the room in a glitter cloud, all of his skin radiant and sparkling in the mirror, the black and gold handprints showing up as shocking decorations on his bare torso. The tiny gold sequins shorts spelling out the new year across his ass actually make a safer resting place for Peter's gaze than his face, which is sharply defined and shockingly beautiful. “Bare feet,” he pronounces slowly and salaciously, winking at Peter in the mirror. “Okay, you’re done, look at your hair, Bryce, you complete bitch, how did you know I wanted competition tonight?”

“He’s so hawt,” agrees Bryce happily, capping his lip gloss and pursing his lips, tilting his face. “Eddie, do I want-”

“No!” shrieks Eddie. “Don’t change anything, you’ve achieved perfection and I’m going to claw your eyes out, you’re that pretty.”

Peter grins at Eddie as Eddie slides careful fingers up his gravity-defying hair. “You look,” Eddie says lowly, dangerously, tilting his chin down so that his eyes pull Peter to take a step forward in the mirror, his grin changing his face from devastating to dangerous, “like you’d give anyone a run for their money, Peter Parker,” he finishes, with a wicked grin.

Peter shivers and Hunter laughs, elbowing him. “Don’t listen to him! He’s such a flirt- he’ll tease and tease but he never _gives in_ , Peter.” 

Eddie laughs, and says, “Not to you, old man. Give it a couple of years, and maaaaybe you can be my new Daddy, though!”

Hunter snorts and rolls his eyes at Peter in the mirror.

“Are we done?” asks Dylan, re-entering the room, in a red velvet jumper that screams, _Touch Me Anywhere_. Peter’s fingers itch and he thinks of his suitcase, thinks of Bucky saying, _the kid’s not even old enough to legally drink, we gotta find some way to let him have actual time off_ , and smiles because, well, there’s proof right there that Peter can absolutely handle anything. He’d already thought of that and planned ahead.

“One minute, come to my room?” asks Peter. Something in his tone must alert them to a secret, because they all perk up with excitement and follow him.

“My butt’s only at 87% power without heels,” mourns Hunter as they prowl through the hallways.

“Please, your 87% power is 200 times mine,” says Bryce with a snort and a smack of Hunter’s ass. “I had to _give_ those leggings to Peter, look at them! Look at his ass, in those leggings! I cannot ever be expected to wear them again, are you kidding me?”

“You do have a nice ass,” Dylan tells Peter. “Do you, like, do squats, or-”

“Super serum,” sighs Peter, shaking his head and opening the door for them.

“Unfair!” declares Eddie.

“Completely unfair,” pouts Bryce. 

Peter shuts the door behind Dylan and spins, to say, “Okay, remember, what I said, about Wakanda?”

“Ooooooh, the love potion,” hums Dylan, his eyes lighting up. 

“Yeah,” says Peter.

“Did you get us _tickets?”_ gasps Bryce, clasping his hands in front of his chest and looking even more adorable in all the make-up. He, too, had refused a wig, and his hair looks soft and sweet, framing his face.

“No,” Peter says, considering explaining that it’s not something you can _buy your way into_ , and discarding that as irrelevant. “Mr. Stark got me- well-” he crosses to his bag and pulls out the box, setting it on the bed and then lifting the lid carefully, displaying the bottle.

All four men gasp and lean in. “Ooooh, Peter,” coos Eddie, “you shouldn’t have.”

“You really shouldn’t have,” says Dylan doubtfully.

“Oh, stop,” declares Hunter. “Peter drank like a gallon of it, he’s fine.”

“Are you going to _share_?” asks Bryce.

“Yes,” says Peter, and then raises a hand to them, before anyone can babble anything more. “One sip, just enough for you to kind of, like, get a taste of it. It’s not alcoholic, Bryce, it can’t hurt you. And it’s not a love potion, it just-” how to describe it, thinks Peter, “it just makes you more, uh, in your body, makes you feel stuff, sexy stuff. Everything feels sexier.”

“Like e,” Eddie says firmly.

“Eddie!” hisses Hunter, scandalized.

“What? I used to be a stray cat,” says Eddie nonchalantly. “It didn’t _hurt_ me any.”

“I don’t know, I’ve never had e, but, yeah, it won’t hurt you, and it won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do,” Peter reassures Dylan. “It just feels good, and you’ll only be taking a sip, anyway.”

He uncaps the bottle and takes a sip, and then passes it to Eddie, who takes a sip and then makes a face, “Oh, ew, it’s so sweet,” he chokes out, passing it to Bryce, who takes a sip and hums, “Oh, yeah, that’s really sweet!”

Bryce passes it to Hunter, who takes a sip and passes it to Dylan, who looks at Peter.

“You missed the last time we went drinking, and, well, so did I,” Peter says ruefully. “It won’t hurt, I swear, Dylan. I swear, I drank, well, not gallons, but more than a couple of cups, and so did Mr. Stark and Pepper and a whole crowd of Wakandans and no one got hurt, I promise, Dylan, I wouldn’t poison you.”

“Besides, you can’t say no, just look at him, Dylan,” interjects Eddie, grabbing Peter’s chin playfully and shaking his face at Dylan. “Just _look_ at these cheekbones and those eyes and _try_ to say no. Just look at him!”

Peter shoves him off, laughing, as Dylan chuckles and takes a small sip, handing the bottle back to Peter.

“See?” says Peter, holding up the bottle. “You can barely see that any’s missing. Just a taste, to get the night started right, huh? To celebrate _actual time off,_ right, guys?”

Dylan smiles and says, “Happy New Years, right?”

“Happy New Years,” crows Eddie.

Peter tucks the bottle back in his suitcase and they file out into the main room of the penthouse.

“Ahhh, visions,” sighs Kevin, looking up from his spot by the fireplace. He’s a vision, too, in a tightly tailored, shiny black suit of a severe cut. Simple, plain, and with the other men in all their bright and shiny frippery rushing up to him, his clothing radiates the message _I am in control here, they are my sparkly accessories_. Peter shivers, and sits where Kevin directs him.

“Just a few new friends, Peter, although of course I expect you to play with the boys. I believe all that makeup and- and _outrageous_ hair, Bryce, is that your work?” Bryce nods happily from his perch on the arm of Kevin’s chair, tilting his head and resting it on his palm. “Will be disguise enough, although of course if you wish a code name-”

“We all have them,” giggles Bryce.

“Scene names are an important part of scene life,” agrees Kevin.

“I tried to get him to name me Brat back when I first moved in,” Eddie announces gleefully. “But no, I’m Glitter.”

“Lash,” says Dylan with a smile, fluttering his eyes, the gems on his false lashes sparkling in the low light of the room.

“Arrow,” says Hunter.

“I think I’m pretty much just Baby,” says Bryce uncertainly.

“You are absolutely Baby,” says Eddie firmly. “Which is why I think I should get to be Brat. Call a rose a rose, Daddy.”

“And I am Master K,” Kevin tells Peter, ignoring Eddie. “Although honestly, why I bother-”

“Name him Spider!” giggles Bryce.

“No, Leatherbutt,” laughs Eddie, patting Peter’s ass.

“Peter already has a name,” protests Dylan. “Mr. Stark calls him Trouble!”

Peter swallows and says, “Do I- do I have to-”

“No, of course not,” Kevin assures him. “I don’t believe my old friend has any intention of getting back into scene life, beyond the few close friends who may invite him to parties. These people tonight will be discreet, Peter. They hold offices as- important- as yours, and as public. They won’t be interested in spreading tales. I assure you that Tony knows them well and knows they would be here tonight, and has no problem with it.”

“Does Pepper know?” asks Peter, because honestly, Mr. Stark’s not that great about reputation protection. If Peter wanted approval for a bad idea, he might give it. But Pepper?

“Yes, she does,” smiles Kevin. “And that tells you all you need to know, doesn’t it?”

Peter nods. Eddie’s hands creep up to rest on Peter's hips as he says, “Let’s dance, c’mon, Peter!”

Peter can feel it, too, the ache to _move_ , and it makes him toss his head- his hair not moving an inch from the carefully composed and impossible coif Bryce had coaxed out of it. He smiles. “I’ll be Teddy,” he says, thinking of Mr. Stark declaring Peter his favorite teddy bear. “But, yeah, let’s dance.”

“Not so loud you disrupt conversation out here,” Kevin calls in warning behind them.

“Yes, Daddy,” shouts Eddie over one shoulder.

~~~

The rumpus room has been completely transformed, in the space of a few hours. The furniture has been shoved to the corners of the room, and Peter understands why it’s modular now, because it creates four separate little reclining spaces. The TV and all of the other electronics have disappeared into some kind of cabinet thing built into the wall behind where they usually hang, drawers slapped shut. All of the tables were folded and put in a closet, and the things on top of them carefully displayed on shelves on the walls.

Eddie flips the main lights off and Bryce fiddles with a control center until lights begin to float through the room. Dylan has his phone out and is flipping, scrolling, until he smiles and says, “Found it!” and thumbs the screen. Music pours from speakers- loud, thumping music- and Hunter and Eddie race to close the doors. 

Bryce smiles at Peter and takes his hand. “C’mon, dance with Baby,” he teases, shaking his hips, the fringe of his crop top lashing his darkly tanned stomach.

Peter curves a smile because Bryce clearly thinks he’s hot shit, but Peter _danced the dawn up_ between Nakia and T’Challa in Wakanda during the Rain Festival. The tight leather pants aren’t a loincloth, and the mesh-and-sequins vest isn’t the hot heat of the flame, but he’s pretty sure he can take all of them.

He begins the basic, friendly step, and watches Bryce’s eyes cross. Yeah. Tonight’s gonna be fun, he thinks, as the lick of the manna bursts into a full flame and he smiles at Bryce, who pants up at him, eyes wide. 

Super fun.

Peter loses himself in the beat.

~~~

Sometime later, when he’s danced with all of the boys and three of the six other slim, young bodies that have entered the room only to immediately hit the dancefloor, Dylan grabs him by the expedient of slinging an arm around his neck and shouting into Peter’s ear, “Kevin just texted Jack and said he could stop by for our New Year’s party. Jack’ll be here in an hour. Help me!”

Peter wipes the sweat from his brow and smiles at Dylan. “What, you need some more?”

“Just a little,” begs Dylan, “please, I don’t want to be stupid but I’m so nervous and it made me feel all, like, floaty and- and please, Peter?”

Peter eyes up the room. Hunter and Bryce have taken to the Wakandan dance moves like ducks to water, and they’re both grinding up against each other in what would be absolutely hot if, like, Hunter was fifteen years older and- well. Peter has a type, he admits to himself. Anyway, judging by the guests guzzling their drinks on the couches, unable to tear their eyes away, other people find it really fucking hot.

Eddie is giving lap dances and has been for the last two songs. He’s pretty damn good, too, thinks Peter, although he doesn’t really have a basis for comparison. The glazed looks on his partner’s faces indicate they’d pay good money for a repeat experience, though, and that’s probably the number one indicator of a decent lap dance.

“Yeah,” Peter tells Dylan. “One more, but then no more, okay?”

“Yessss, thank you,” blesses Dylan. They sneak into Peter’s room, take a sip apiece, re-cap the bottle, and promptly run into Kevin in the hallway.

“Hi, Daddy!” says Dylan brightly.

“Mm, having fun, baby?” asks Kevin smoothly. “That playlist must be hot, did you know I had to pull Eddie off of Justice, of all people?”

“No,” snorts Dylan. “Justice? And _Eddie?_ He hates that guy!”

“And yet there they were, Eddie in his lap,” says Kevin, shaking his head. “I made Hunter go take Bryce for a cool walk to get water, they looked rather heated, too. You know I don’t mind you boys playing with each other, but we have guests, tonight.”

“I know, Daddy,” says Dylan, looking innocent. “I’m sure they just got carried away. It’s New Years!”

“I’m well aware of high spirits and what can happen,” Kevin tells him with a fond smile. “And I don’t mind it a bit, I just worry, that’s all. No one here consented to a scene, tonight. Not that they’d be unwilling, but still. No orgies, I think, not tonight. My old friend would have-”

Peter can feel the beat of the bass through the soles of his feet and it’s hard, for a second, to pay attention to Kevin. Hard, with the word _orgies_ pulling his attention into make believe daydreams and the beat of the music coaxing his limbs to _move_ and _shake_ , bump and grind.

“Okay, Daddy,” says Dylan, drawing Peter’s attention back with a sharp elbow in Peter’s side. “Yes, Kevin,” he says automatically.

Kevin releases them with a fond smile and a wave of his hand, and Dylan and Peter dive for the rumpus room hallway.

“Dance with me, Teddy,” breathes Dylan, and Peter smirks up at him. “Yeah, okay, Lash,” he teases. Dylan’s smile is frantic, so Peter figures the guy could use a little distraction. He mimics the shifting, twisting, sinuous steps of Nakia at her worst and most wicked, as Dylan follows him out to the middle of the floor, mouth slightly parted and panting already.

 _Yeah. None of these New York boys could last until dawn_ , mocks Peter in his thoughts, closing his eyes a little to let the music flow down, reaching for the slight tingle of the manna along his nerves. When he opens them, Dylan is entranced and enchanted, and two women have floated up, in outrageously skimpy outfits for December 31st. 

“Dance with us,” the one on the left demands. Dylan shrugs and turns, so Peter smiles at the one on the right and says, “Yes,” before teaching her how her hips work, in relation to the driving rhythm that surrounds them.

~~~

It’s some time later- his mouth is dry again- when a deep voice says in his ear, “Little Peter Parker, what in the world are you doing?” and he jolts out of his daze, half-turning to see Jack frowning down at him.

“Uh, dancing?” he asks, and then he spies Kevin in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his face. “Sir?” he adds, hopefully.

“Having simulated sex is not dancing,” says Jack.

“Oh, uh, it’s Wakandan? Traditional,” Peter pants. “I- I learned it this fall?”

“Uh huh,” says Jack before adding, “Did you teach Dylan the steps he’s showing off, or--?”

Peter looks through the dark of the room and says faintly, “Uh, no, he’s- that’s definitely not allowed.”

“Yeah,” says Jack, “I thought not. Go to Kevin.”

 _Shit_ , thinks Peter, looking around the room wildly, because where are- _oh no_.

Kevin hauls Eddie off of the lap he’s grinding on, and Peter winces, because he dangles Eddie for a second and then tosses him negligently to his feet, pointing at Peter and saying clearly, _go_ , even though Peter can’t hear it over the music.

Eddie approaches Peter licking his lips and smiling. “God, I feel _good_ ,” he snorts, wrapping his arms around Peter. “Did you- okay, listen, when you were in Wakanda, did you mix the love potion with like, a rum and coke? Because Peter, _you should have_.”

Peter stiffens. “Eddie,” he hisses. “You didn’t- you didn’t have _more_ , did you?”

“Of course I did!” protests Eddie. “I saw Dylan sneak you away! I wanted more, too!”

“Oh, no, Eddie,” groans Peter, banging his head against Eddie’s shoulder.

Jack approaches with Dylan held firmly by the scruff of his white bodysuit. “Hello, boys,” he says sternly. “Stay right here.”

He looks around the room, and winces. “Well, he doesn’t need my help,” he mutters. 

Kevin pushes both Bryce and Hunter towards the doorway where they’re all standing and then says, blackly, “My room. Now.”

Dylan and Jack lead the way, with Kevin at the rear of the group, holding a protesting Bryce.

“Did you and Bryce go back for _more?”_ hisses Peter at Hunter.

“Uh, yeah?” asks Hunter, blinking at Peter. “You said it was safe!”

 _Shit._ “Not that safe, obviously,” hisses Peter, exasperated. “Did you leave _any_ of it for me?”

“We just took sips, you can barely tell it’s gone,” Hunter whispers back.

“Getting your stories straight, boys?” asks Kevin, his voice a sharp whip across Peter’s attention.

“N-no, sir,” responds Hunter, elbowing Peter so that Peter jumps and says, “No, sir,” firmly.

Kevin stalks through the group after shutting the door firmly. He settles onto an ottoman at the end of the bed and Peter watches the four young men’s faces blanch white.

“But- but Daddy,” begins Bryce, a little fearfully. “I didn’t- you _like_ it when Hunter does that stuff to me-”

“Yes, I do, baby,” says Kevin calmly. “And your bodies are your own, you know I feel that way, and I trust Hunter with you and you with Hunter, without a moment’s hesitation. But all five of you are acting very strangely and I want an answer, please.”

The other men look so damn guilty, he might as well confess, thinks Peter with a sigh.

“I-” he begins, but Eddie interrupts to confess, “I had a rum and coke.”

“We- Daddy, champagne, I know it’s for midnight, but you- it was just one bottle,” Hunter stammers, lifting Bryce’s hand for a kiss to their joined knuckles. “Baby said no, but I said, I said you wouldn’t mind, because you _didn’t_ mind last year, Daddy.”

“That was an entirely different kind of party,” murmurs Kevin, arching one eyebrow at Hunter while glaring at Eddie. “And you, Dylan?”

Dylan glances at Peter and says, “I, uh, like to dance, I guess. The way, um, Peter showed us? Only, uh, more than _liked_ , I guess?”

“Yeah, you think?” teases Jack. “I can see where you’re not so little from here, little boy.”

Dylan flushes and Peter aches for him.

“Peter?” asks Kevin.

“What?” asks Peter back.

“Your behavior, any explanation you’d like to throw out?” offers Kevin graciously.

Off to the side, Jack snorts, “Not like we’re believing them, so far.”

“Uh, no?” tries Peter. “No explanation? I was just, uh, dancing? Traditionally?” Mr. Stark’ll back him up on that one, he’s sure of it. If Kevin wants to get pushy and call the man.

On second thought, he’d really rather Kevin not call the man.

“Hmm,” says Kevin. “Well, maybe that’s normal dancing for you, Mr. Parker, but this behavior? Not normal for my boys. I know you, gentlemen. I know you with a naughty rum and coke in you, and I know you with stolen champagne, and _I know you_ , so cut the crap and confess.”

Bryce is going to break, Peter realizes, a second too late, because Bryce is able to squeak out, “It’s safe, Daddy!” before Hunter or Peter can get there to glare at him and shush him.

“What’s safe, Baby?” asks Kevin in a severe tone of voice and that’s it, thinks Peter with a sigh, as Eddie groans and rolls his eyes and Hunter shoves Bryce away from him in disgust.

Dylan shuffles his feet beside Jack and Peter catches him whispering to Jack, “I only had a little, I promise, Jack. And it’s not illegal, please, Jack.”

“What’s not illegal?” asks Jack loudly.

 _Fuck_.

All four boys turn to look at Peter and that means both Jack and Kevin begin glaring at him, too.

“Uh,” says Peter, because the problem with the stuff is that it kinda coats his brain, even a few sips, apparently, coats his brain and makes him think things about Jack’s body and Kevin’s eyes, and maybe they can’t hear the beat of the music, but he can still hear it, loud and clear, and it takes _effort_ not to sway in place.

 _Fuck it._ He didn’t do anything _wrong_.

“I brought, um, manna juice, from- Mr. Stark’s Christmas present to me,” he says, and tilts his chin up. “It won’t hurt anybody, and it doesn’t do anything-”

“That’s not true,” gasps Bryce. “I feel _amazing,_ Daddy! Like I could, I could- I got a boner right away, didn’t I, Hunter?”

Hunter shrugs and nods, a wicked grin crossing his face. “Yeah, so, it has to do _something_ , Peter.”

“I _still_ have one,” announces Eddie defiantly. “And it’s awesome, you should- we should let them have a sip, Peter.”

“What?” splutters Peter. “Oh, definitely _not_.”

“Why not, little Peter Parker?” asks Jack, his voice low and dangerous. 

Peter licks his lips and stammers, “B-because you’d- it- you wouldn’t have fun,” he concludes.

“Jack would!” protests Dylan, wrapping himself around the man’s arm, making an angry face at Peter. “He _absolutely_ would like it and he’s the _most_ fun.”

“I don’t know why they’re acting all weird,” Peter tells Kevin, throwing his arms up. “They only had two sips. I drank cups full of it in Wakanda, and I was-” well. Okay, saying _fine_ is a very huge exaggeration even his conscience won’t allow. “-okay,” he concludes lamely. “Healthy.”

“What’s manna juice?” asks Kevin politely.

“It’s a, um, ceremonial drink thing,” says Bryce happily. “They give it to you for their sex festival.”

“Bryce!” yelps Peter. “It’s _sacred!”_

“Well, so, Peter told us, anyway,” Bryce finishes, cheeks flushing. “You called it a sex festival,” he accuses Peter. “I’m just repeating what _you said.”_

Hunter's arms wrap around Bryce’s shoulder, pulling Bryce back to his chest in a defensive and protective move.

“You gave my boys ceremonial sex juice?” asks Kevin, sounding incredulous.

“Not like that,” protests Peter, raising his hands to fend off the accusing glance.

“No, pretty much like that,” laughs Eddie. “I mean, c’mon, Peter. Pretty much, I mean- that’s exactly what you said.”

“Call Tony,” suggests Jack.

“ _Don’t_ call Mr. Stark,” warns Peter. This is all getting out of hand really fast and he doesn’t like the black look Kevin is giving him, now.

Kevin is already reaching for his pocket and lifting out a phone. Peter can’t think, with the music in the background crescendoing, with Kevin glaring at him and Eddie laughing at him, shaking his head, Hunter wrapped around a pouting Bryce, and Dylan clinging to Jack like the man is a literal lifesaver in the middle of an ocean. He can’t think, so he reacts instead, nanosuit forming around his arms in the space where thoughts should go. He webs the phone from Kevin’s hand and declares loudly, “No, _stop_!” 

The whole of the world does stop, including Peter’s heartbeat, for one full second that seems to stretch for eternity.

Kevin stands up, his expression thunderous, and demands, “Peter Parker, did you just take my phone from me?”

Peter breathes, “N-no, sir, no, I just- please- please don’t call Mr. Stark, sir.”

Kevin stalks over and plucks the phone from Peter’s hand and says, very carefully, “Oh, no, little boy, the adults all need to have a quick chat. And since you can’t seem to remember to keep your hands to yourself-” he pushes Peter and Peter stumbles where he’s led, until Peter’s shoulders hit a corner. “You can turn around, right now, little boy, and put your nose in that corner until we’re done.”

“N-no, please,” begs Peter. “I j-just-” his voice breaks. 

“You’ll just remember the rules you agreed to, Mr. Parker,” says Kevin, pressing buttons on the phone. “Turn. Now.”

Peter swallows and turns, facing the corner with his cheeks hot and the music thrumming distantly, now, no longer overwhelming. Not when he can hear the dial tone and know, know what Mr. Stark is going to say, already. “It’s not illegal and it wasn’t gonna hurt them,” he protests, foot tapping against the wall.

“Not. One. Single. Word. More,” grates Kevin, as he walks back to the ottoman.

Eddie starts to laugh and Kevin snaps, “And you, that corner- _there-_ now!”

Peter can hear Eddie hiccup and shuffle to the opposite corner. He tilts his head to catch the other man resting his forehead and shoulder against the corner walls. Jack snaps his fingers and Peter flinches, eyes racing to the man’s face. Jack points at the wall as Peter scowls, turning back to face the corner.

“Hunter, hands on your own body, for now,” sighs Kevin. “Bryce, come sit by me, if you need to be petted to stay calm. Hello, yes, Tony, do you have a second? Everyone’s fine, we just need to sort out a story rather sooner than later.”

Peter winces as Mr. Stark’s voice suddenly fills the room, mid-word, “-ah, I can do that. Everyone’s okay, though? Here, just a sec, I left when I saw your call but they put us in the suite- here we are- that Pepper likes, and it’s not the most convenient-” the door closes, and Peter winces again, because Pepper says, “I like it, though, it’s got the best view of the roses.”

“That’s very true, when the roses are in season,” concedes Mr. Stark, his voice so fond it makes Peter sway a little, the driving rhythm of the music fading for a second in the thrum of all of Peter’s need for that tone. “So, what story do you need straightened, Kevin? How can I help?”

“Did you give Peter a gift for Christmas of a Wakandan aphrodisiac?” asks Kevin in a hard tone.

“Ye-es,” drawls Mr. Stark suspiciously. “Why? Is he bragging-”

“Oh no,” breathes Pepper. “Peter, you _didn’t.”_

“Peter can’t answer right now, his nose is pressed into one of my bedroom corner walls,” drawls Kevin.

On the phone, Mr. Stark chuckles. It’s not a great sound. Peter hunches his shoulder. 

“So did he?” asks Pepper breathlessly.

“He did,” confirms Mr. Stark. “There’s no way Peter’s earned himself some of Kevin’s corner time treatment for _bragging_ about his Christmas present.”

“Oh, Peter,” sighs Pepper. “Ramonda is going to be so _disappointed_.”

Peter winces, his mind reeling. He hadn’t even _thought_ of the Wakandan response.

“Who?” asks Mr. Stark.

“All five,” Kevin answers with a sniff.

“Peter,” begins Mr. Stark, before cutting himself off. “It’s perfectly safe, my old friend. It doesn’t- it lowers inhibitions and makes, uh, there’s a noticeable sexual response to music, but even if they cleared off the entire bottle- _and you better not have, Peter_ \- it’s not enough to do more than encourage. It’ll burn out of their system in, what, Pep, four hours? Maybe five, at that dose?”

“We only had sips,” mutters Peter, kicking at the wall.

“What was that, from the corner?” calls Kevin.

“We only had sips, the whole bottle’s practically still there,” shouts Peter, glowering.

“Oh, Trouble, oh, Trouble, Trouble, Trouble, quit while you’re ahead,” Mr. Stark scoffs from the speaker.

“It’s New Years!” protests Peter. “It’s not gonna hurt anybody. They didn’t even _do_ anything! Just dancing!”

“I mean,” starts Bryce slowly, in protest. “Hunter almost had my shorts down, Peter. It’s not the first time we’ve done a floor show but usually, I mean-”

“I consented, you consented,” protests Hunter.

“The people in that room, lovely as they are and as much as I think they would have been delighted,” interrupts Kevin severely, “did not consent. This was _not_ that kind of party, boys, and you know it.”

“Well,” sighs Pepper. “That all sounds pretty exciting. Much more exciting than our very boring diplomacy here in D.C., Peter.”

Peter winces and kicks the wall again.

“You kick that wall one more time, Mr. Parker,” calls Jack, “and you and I will be having words about respecting other people’s property, regardless of your frame of mind.”

Peter hesitates, and then puts his foot firmly on the floor.

“Oh, Lord, is that Jack?” mutters Pepper.

“That’s Jack,” confirms Mr. Stark with a grin in his voice.

“Just what Kevin needs,” sighs Pepper.

“Just exactly what I need,” agrees Kevin. “How in the world you think I can spank five naughty bottoms in one night and then go out calmly and play host, Pepper Potts, without anyone to assist me, is beyond my comprehension.”

Peter’s ears fill with the protests of the other boys, until Mr. Stark barks sharply, “Quiet.”

The room is filled with silence.

“Peter, you and I will be dealing with some consequences tomorrow,” says Mr. Stark quietly. “And we’ll be doing it while flying over the Atlantic Ocean to have a chat with T’Challa and see if he thinks there needs to be _further_ consequences. Or atonement.”

Peter can’t breathe, abruptly, and his eyes fill with tears. He hadn’t even _thought_ about the Wakandans. He’d just- just wanted to have some _fun_.

“Do you need me to come up there tonight?” asks Mr. Stark slowly. “Or can you trust Kevin and Jack to handle it?”

Peter gasps, and then gasps again, and lifts his chin and glares at the wall. “I- green,” he says, as clearly as he can. “I’m- it’s- green.”

Mr. Stark’s hum fills the room, low and considering. “Well, you know I’d rather straighten him out myself, Kevin, but. A word? In private? Peter, you stay put. You kick that wall one more time and Jack is only going to do what I’d do myself, and you know it.”

Peter nods helplessly, and then chokes on a feeling of _want_. He _wants_ Mr. Stark. He wants Mr. Stark to come, come sort him out and straighten him out and fix this. Help him. _Fix it._

“Yes,” says Kevin quietly, and there are long pauses as Mr. Stark says- something about super hearing and sensitivity and running interference. Kevin stands and walks to the bathroom, and runs the shower and the sink, closes the door and oh, _damn_ Mr. Stark, because now Peter can only pick out Kevin’s half of the conversation, as the man mutters, “Oh. Oh, I hadn’t even _thought_. Of course. Of course, Tony. Yes. Well. And that makes sense, too. No, I won’t, I’ll be firm, I understand. Don’t tell me how to make a good boy behave, Anthony Stark, I’ve been doing it for longer than you’ve been alive! Oh, yes, bless, of course, the sweet thing. He’ll be in good hands. Okay, yes.” He turns off the shower and the sink and then walks over to Peter and holds out the phone. “He wants a word, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lifts the phone out of Kevin’s hand with weak fingers and croaks, “Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“How do you feel, right now?” asks Mr. Stark.

Peter considers the question and replies weakly, “Not good. Really- really bad.”

Mr. Stark hums. “And, what would you say is the name of the feeling, that’s making you feel bad?”

“Guilt,” whispers Peter, hunching forward and resting his forehead against the cool wall. “I- they’re fine, Mr. Stark, and- but- I didn’t- the Wakandans, Kevin, the other guests- I didn’t think- probably guilt.”

“Yeah,” sighs Mr. Stark in that horrible, understanding tone. “Good job identifying it. You said _green_ , but I need to check, would it _help_ , Peter? Or does it have to be me?”

Peter thinks about it. “I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“Well, if it doesn’t help, you call me, okay?” ask Mr. Stark. “I can be there in an hour. Kevin’s flaming mad, but he’s only so mad because he takes his responsibility for their safety and their reputations so seriously, Peter. Their reputation and safety, and _yours_ , Trouble.”

“I didn’t- we didn’t do anything _wrong_ ,” protests Peter.

“Mr. Parker,” says Mr. Stark sternly, “where does that liquid lead?”

“To dancing,” says Peter stubbornly. “To dancing, and having fun, and feeling good.”

“And where else?” questions Mr. Stark sharply. “Or does Ramonda put up tents for very short people to _dance_ in, along the path up to the palace?”

“Sex,” mutters Peter, glowering.

“Yeah,” agrees Mr. Stark. “So it’s not innocent, and it’s not safe, the way you mean ‘safe,’ which is, _free from any bad consequences_. There’s plenty of bad consequences in that bottle, and I’m giving my okay for some of them to fall on your ass, do you hear me?”

Peter nods miserably.

“Be a good boy, for Kevin,” Mr. Stark tells him severely. “Call if the shortcut doesn’t work. Put Kevin back on.”

“Yes, sir,” says Peter miserably, and then he holds the phone up for Kevin, the sound of the world rushing in his ears.

“All right, old friend, I’ve got him, I’ve got them all, Happy New Years, I’ll call when we’re all settled in a few,” says Kevin, his voice fond and sweet, choking Peter’s throat again. “Love to Pepper, see you tomorrow afternoon. Well, late morning, then, don’t you rush up here. He’ll be fine.”

He tosses the phone on the ottoman and sighs. Peter winces again.

“Well, let’s sort you all out,” he says. “Jack, will you take Dylan?”

“My pleasure,” says the man firmly. 

“And who else? Eddie?” asks Kevin pleasantly.

“Yellow,” says Eddie firmly.

“What do you need to know?” asks Kevin.

“I- I want- um, aftercare,” he says.

“I know how to cuddle,” chuckles Jack.

“Then green, I guess,” says Eddie.

“I- I can go, too,” offers Hunter.

“Oh, yes, that’s such a good boy,” says Kevin. “Do add that in, Jack.”

“Hunter is _always_ such a good boy,” says Jack calmly. “When he remembers to use that beautiful brain as well as his beautiful body.”

“Yes, do remind him of that,” says Kevin placidly. “I’ll be in to check, Eddie, Hunter. Be good for Jack.”

The door opens beside Peter, and he shivers away from it. “Good boy, little Peter Parker,” growls Jack. “ _You_ be good to Kevin, and Kevin’s walls. Because he’s going to come _check_ , little Peter Parker, and I’ll ask him if you were, and if you weren’t, _I’ll come settle that account, too._ ”

Peter shivers and nods. Jack passes from the room, and Dylan mutters, “God, Peter,” which makes Peter hunch. Eddie chuckles, “Excellent party, the very best,” and Hunter stops to mutter, “We decided, Peter, don’t let Dylan make you feel guilty. He just-”

“Hunter?” asks Jack sharply, and Hunter says, “Later. We’ll talk. Don’t stress it.”

_Don’t stress it._

When- when Ramonda had said, “The Rain Dance is too sacred for such petty foolishness,” just a few months back. But he’d thought, holding the bottle with Mr. Stark, about how New Years is pretty much like the Rain Festival in Wakanda. And how he’d wanted to capture that feeling, that feeling of joy and rebirth- and then Dylan said they usually danced all night, and- It had seemed pretty perfect, to bring the bottle, and just- just offer a sip. Like a good luck charm for the new year.

Yeah, not _this_ year, apparently. This year is looking not so lucky.

“Bryce,” begins Kevin severely.

“No, Daddy, I- I don’t want to-” begs Bryce. “I didn’t _do_ anything, I just danced, I promise. I did what Hunter wanted, please Daddy, you always say that’s so good, _please_.”

“Bryce, you are not an idiot,” snaps Kevin, and something else snaps, too, some kind of clothing- probably the pants Bryce is barely wearing. “I don’t _raise_ idiots here. I raise _courteous_ men, who know better than to put anything in their bodies that isn’t approved. Champagne, with Hunter? Manna, with Peter? And then putting on a show, on a night when we’ve invited people to have innocent fun, Baby?”

Bryce pleads, “But Daddy, no, I- I know, but they were all-”

“To whom am I speaking, right now, baby boy?” asks Kevin in a cutting voice.

“Me,” says Bryce lowly. 

“And to whom do you belong, baby boy?” asks Kevin.

“You,” says Bryce, in that same low voice.

“And do I allow you to _act_ like this, young man?” asks Kevin.

“No,” sighs Bryce.

“That’s right. Over my lap for your reminder,” directs Kevin, and then he just- just _lays in_.

Peter’s horrified to realize the sound of Kevin’s hand smacking Bryce’s butt develops a rhythm that his body _recognizes_ as a danceable rhythm. He’s hot, suddenly, and then cold, as Bryce lets out little squeaks and stammers of apologies, until the squeaks and stammers develop a rhythm and then his flesh is too tight, too hot, and he has to move. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, biting his lip and praying that the juice wears off before- before it’s his turn.

Bryce is gasping in time to the hits and Peter opens his eyes to glare at the corner. This is ridiculous, he tells himself sternly. It’s _Kevin_ and _Bryce_ behind him.

“You are my baby,” says Kevin, interrupting the building rhythm abruptly, thank God. Peter breathes and sways forward with the sudden sensation of release. “And it is not hard to walk twelve steps and check in with me, if the other boys get up to mischief, do you hear me? And you will learn to do it, Bryce, so help me, if you learn nothing else, you will learn how to take those twelve steps towards your Dom before you make a bad decision.”

“Y-yes, Daddy,” pleads Bryce. “I will- I will- I- _please_.”

“Enough,” says Kevin, and at least _he_ sounds like he’s a little out of breath, thinks Peter. Mr. Stark _never_ sounds like he’s doing anything but leisurely strolling through the park, it’s _insane_.

Bryce blubbers through the rest of it, which helps to break up the rhythm, because he cries out sometimes and other times hisses or gasps, and there’s no _pattern_ for the manna to latch on to.

“Go lay down, on my bed,” says Kevin eventually, and Peter realizes the smacking sound has stopped and the room is quiet except for the quiet cries of Bryce. “Go _lay down_ , and remember our rules, which keep you safe, Bryce.”

“Yes, Daddy,” moans Bryce.

There’s a pause before Kevin opens a drawer somewhere nearby, and then he says, severely, “Come here, Mr. Parker.”

Peter turns, and all of his fluid rhythm deserts him when he sees Kevin sitting there, formal and severe in his tightly-fitted suit, his face frowning deeply in Peter’s direction. He stumbles forward and then stumbles again, until he drops to his knees in front of Kevin and has no idea what to say, his mind racing as he stares at Kevin’s knees. 

Mr. Stark is taking him to Wakanda. Tomorrow. To apologize. For-

“Yes, I see now what my old friend was talking about,” sighs Kevin. His hand reaches out and Peter shies away from it, but it glides through the air carefully, slowly, and rests on his cheek so gently he bites his lip again. “That wasn’t sass earlier, was it, Peter Parker?”

“W-when?” asks Peter.

“When you said you were just dancing,” Kevin says gently. “You honestly thought that.”

“Yes,” Peter tells him, unable to lift his eyes up to look up.

“Sweet innocent boy,” sighs Kevin. “I am so glad you’ve chosen my old friend. I can think of no one more deserving to walk you through the minefield of life than someone who once looked around the world so sweetly and so innocently and who seemed determined to map his way through it by finding every single mine, foot-first.” His other hand reaches around and settles gently, cupping Peter’s face in his hands. “Do you trust me, Peter Parker?” he asks, like he’s genuinely curious.

“Yes, Kevin,” says Peter, feeling certainty settle into his limbs. He does. He does trust Kevin. The reminder lifts several weights from his limbs, making him momentarily dizzy.

“Tell me about the fight, last night,” demands Kevin, surprising Peter.

“I- uh, I did good, I guess,” says Peter. “I handled myself like an _adult_.”

“Ah,” says Kevin, like he’s just revealed something. “Why did you pack the manna, Peter?”

Kevin had been the first person to explain to Peter that honesty is the single most important rule, especially in relationships where things can get, uh, complicated.

Things are very definitely _complicated_ , tonight.

Peter takes a deep breath and tries to organize all of the thoughts careening through his head. He can feel Kevin’s calm waiting like a balm, soothing through all of the red-hot lashes the manna has left on his brain, giving him time and space to spit out the truth as best he can, for this man. The man who taught him to appreciate its worth.

“I- in Wakanda, they- they greet the Rains with it, like, like a new year, and T’Challa said I could have it, to like, celebrate the new year, and I wasn’t gonna- it’s for me and Mr. Stark, really, for us to- to enjoy, but I like your, uh, boys, Kevin. And I thought, it wouldn’t hurt them and it’d be fun, Dylan says you already dance the whole night most New Year’s and- and-” Peter’s voice is cracking, now, as he forces the words out, “and I wanted to, uh, share, that. Fun.”

“And did you think, when you were planning this big adventure you wanted to have, to _ask_ , Peter Parker? Do I seem like the kind of man who would tell beautiful young men who want to dose each other with aphrodisiacs and dance until dawn, _no, no, you can’t do that here_?” teases Kevin, his voice as rich and dark with teasing as Mr. Stark’s has ever been, when Peter kneels in this same position for him.

Peter does look up then, up into Kevin’s warm, friendly face. He flushes with shame at the understanding he sees there. “N-no, Kevin, I- um. I didn’t think. To ask.”

“Mm,” hums Kevin, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair in a way that leaves Peter a little breathless with the gentle care he exudes. “Did you raid my liquor cabinet, Peter Parker?”

“No, sir,” says Peter honestly.

“Did you ask a doctor- any doctor- if the manna juice is safe for people with heart conditions, Peter? Hunter has one, did you know?”

Peter reels with shock. “Uh, no, I- I didn’t-”

“I thought not. Did you check to make sure there was a safe place for the boys to go, if they had a bad reaction or just _didn’t like_ the manna, Peter?” asks Kevin, his expression serious and grave.

“N-no,” admits Peter. “I- I didn’t- I thought, I liked it, all the Wakandans-”

“All the Wakandans _that you saw_ enjoyed it,” agrees Kevin blandly, letting the words sink in before he continues, “and you don’t know what information they had on you and Mr. Stark. He’d been in their medical facility, yes? And yourself, I remember you saying that, before.”

“...yes,” admits Peter, face flushing again. “I didn’t- I didn’t-”

“You didn’t know,” agrees Kevin. nodding. “But I did. I know how to do those kinds of things, to think of those kinds of concerns. And so does your Mr. Stark. Why keep it a secret from us, Peter?”

Peter bites his lip and shakes his head, because the answer is so _childish_ , too childish for this conversation, right now.

“You _are_ getting paddled, Mr. Parker, you can say the words now, willingly, or later, crying, I don’t care which,” says Kevin severely.

Peter gasps, his eyes filling with tears, and shakes his head again.

“Color?” asks Kevin, lifting a small plastic paddle and putting it in front of Peter.

“G-green,” Peter tells him, looking up. “I _trust_ you, K-kevin.”

“Good boy,” Kevin tells him, sounding proud. “Up and over my lap, then.”

There’s no effort put into pulling the leggings down, for which Peter is grateful. They were a bitch to get up in the first place and while he trusts the man, he’s not comfortable having Kevin see him bare-assed. Or- or do anything to his bare ass. At all. Kevin positions him carefully and then lifts the paddle. “This is going to sting,” he says mildly.

Peter winces, and then yelps when the paddle connects because, yeah, even through a thin layer of leather, it’s a hot bright heat that blazes against his backside. He yelps and continues to yelp, high-pitched little whining noises that would be embarrassing except that he’d had to listen to Bryce whine and beg, and honestly that’s way worse.

Kevin keeps him guessing and jumping- he’s never quite sure when the paddle will land, until Peter is gasping for air and flinching quite a bit. 

“Ready to talk?” asks Kevin mildly.

Thank God, he sounds winded again.

“Yes-sir,” hisses Peter, squirming in place to try to relieve some of the burning sting in his backside. 

“So. Why keep it a secret? Why not approach either one of us and say, _this is what I’d like to do, can you help me plan it?”_ asks Kevin curiously.

Peter’s face flames as bright as his backside feels and he mutters his reply under his breath.

“What was that?” asks Kevin, slapping Peter’s butt with a heavy thwack of the paddle.

“I said I-guess-I-wanted-to-be-a-little-naughty,” spits Peter, louder, squirming under the words.

“Well, mission accomplished, young Parker. You were more than a _little_ naughty, and now you’re getting what happens to naughty little boys, aren’t you, Peter?” says Kevin in an amused tone, lifting the paddle and smacking it down in succession so fast that Peter can’t breathe.

“S-sorry,” hisses Peter, suddenly, a lump in his throat. “I didn’t mean- I didn’t- Hunter is okay, and I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t want to ruin-”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Kevin tells him airily. “Around this house, the naughty butts that want attention, _get attention_ , Mr. Parker. Yours included.”

The lump releases in a sudden rush of a sob. “‘m _sorry_ ,” Peter tells him. “I- I-”

“Shh,” shushes Kevin severely. “You didn’t want to talk, earlier, and so now you won’t talk, do you hear me? You’ll be a naughty little boy, taking a spanking for something that- and I hope you’re listening- was nothing more than _sheer naughtiness_.”

The paddle continues to whack away, the sounds shocking and the rhythm never the same, the placement never the same, until Peter is gulping and trembling and has to beg, has to say, “P-please, p-please.”

The paddle hits three more times, and then rests. “My old friend will deal with the rest of the situation- I won’t pretend to guess what he knows that I do not, about Wakandans and what you owe them, and I won’t ever stick my paddle in the relationship between the two of you, Peter. That’s for you to work out with him, tomorrow. But for the sheer naughtiness of _not telling me anything because you wanted to be a little naughty_ , well. We’re done.”

Peter hisses his agreement wordlessly.

“While you’re in an honest mood, for tonight, are you settled enough for sleep?” asks Kevin, severely.

The party, Peter can hear, is raging in the penthouse around them, the celebration undimmed by the lack of host. He swallows and nods.

“Good. You’ll sleep here. Bryce, make room,” says Kevin firmly.

Mumbling and groaning, Bryce shifts on the bed, and Kevin helps Peter to situate himself.

“You’re both _grounded_ ,” Kevin says firmly. “So you may watch TV and sit here and pout, both of you. I am going to go fetch your jammies and toothbrush, Peter. Bryce, I expect you to help Peter get settled for the night, because if you are not ready when I am ready for sleep, there will be further consequences, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Daddy,” says Bryce breathlessly, his lips already forming a perfect pout, color on his cheeks.

“Yes, Kevin,” agrees Peter.

Kevin nods at them and leaves the room with a flounce of irritation.

~~~

Peter’s clean eyelids feel heavy as he watches the ball drop, Bryce’s head tucked on his t-shirt clad shoulder. They chant in unison, “5-4-3-2-1,” and then Bryce kisses Peter on the cheek. “Happy New Year, Peter,” he says, in the sweetest, smallest voice Peter has ever heard a grown man use.

“Happy New Year, Bryce,” says Peter, turning his head and kissing the top of the man’s head. 

“Don’t tell Daddy, but it was all worth it,” says Bryce, a little shyly and a little smugly. “All of it, Peter. I don’t- I’m not Eddie but I don’t mind a spanking, and I’m always going to remember tonight, Teddy.”

Peter grins down at him and asks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Bryce, rubbing his cheek on Peter’s shoulder. “You looked really good in my pants, too,” he says brightly. “Daddy would have figured out some way to spank that ass, promise.”

Peter rolls his eyes and Bryce giggles, and they switch to Netflix. Bryce throws on an episode of Black Lightning, which he swears Peter will love.

It _is_ pretty good.

The music of the party continues in the background, a hum and thrum that licks at Peter’s nerves and makes him want to move, but Bryce’s breathing slows down, second by second, until he’s asleep on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter’s never had that happen. Mr. Stark sleeps as possessively as he breathes and fucks and glares and teases, wrapped around Peter, his body a solid and comforting presence of weight and heft and sheer force of personality, even exhausted. So Peter’s never had someone doze off, gently, delicately, beside him, and it’s- it’s kind of amazing.

It’s hours later when Kevin glides in and past the bed, smiling at Peter and heading directly to the bathroom, already slipping off the tie and unbuttoning the vest. He takes his time, washing the night off his face and brushing his teeth, from what Peter can catch with his spidersenses, and then glides back into the room in a set of cotton pajamas that look comfortable and tailored.

 _Yeah. Kevin and Mr. Stark, the only two men on the planet who get their pajamas tailored_ , thinks Peter with a wry grin.

“All right, Trouble, good job coaxing him to sleep. Now it’s your turn,” says Kevin lowly, climbing into the bed. He opens his arms to Peter, who gently puts Bryce’s head on the pillow and slides into Kevin’s arms gratefully.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, one last time.

“Shh, you naughty little thing. You didn’t ruin my night one whit, and I’m quite enjoying myself now, so relax and go to sleep,” murmurs Kevin. 

His heartbeat is slow and confident, Peter notes. Not quite the rhythm of Mr. Stark’s, but comforting, nonetheless. 

He’s been drowsy, since Bryce dropped off, not really watching the show but not ready to fall asleep yet, either, and so it’s the easiest thing in the world to let the strong arms wrapped around him and the steady heartbeat beneath his ear soothe him down the rest of the way, to the first sleep of the new year.


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, _I_ think,” begins Eddie over breakfast the next morning, and Jack grunts, a low, threatening sound that makes Eddie’s cheekbones flush as Peter watches. Eddie’s mouth snaps shut and he shifts in place, clearly uncomfortable and also fascinatingly unwilling to risk Jack’s wrath.

“Yes, thank you, Jack,” sighs Kevin into his next sip of tea. “Far too early in my day to hear what you think about last night, bratling,” he teases Eddie gently, pushing the sugar bowl towards the younger man. Eddie grimaces a thank you and carefully spoons out two heaping spoonfuls into his large mug.

“More coffee, Jack?” asks Dylan shyly, from where he’s perched on the man’s lap, head tucked into the crook of the man’s neck.

“Mm, no, baby, no thank you,” says Jack in that same sleep-roughed voice, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s lifted hand, their fingers entwined.

Peter glances over at Bryce, tucked in beside Hunter and still half-asleep, drowsing against the bigger boy. “Bryce, do you want some coffee? Tea?” he offers gently.

“Mm,” replies Bryce, neither a yes nor a no. Hunter meets Peter’s gaze and grins, shaking his head.

“Baby needs a lot of sleep,” announces Dylan, as if he’s explaining Bryce’s behavior to Jack. Jack smirks back up at him and says wickedly, “Oh, does Baby get worn out by Daddy?”

Bryce makes a little noise of distress or protest as Kevin and Eddie chuckle and Eddie says sassily, “Baby does, Jack, you have no idea how much Baby loves taking his Daddy nice and-”

“ _Not_ at the breakfast table,” interrupts Kevin in a warning tone, although his eyes are fond as they eye up Eddie. Eddie snorts and lifts his mug for what looks like a sinful first sip.

“Y’know, Kevin,” says Jack slowly, eyeing up Hunter and Bryce, “Have you considered the Laurents?”

Kevin sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, I don’t know them well enough- they spend most of their year in Europe, Jack.”

“Well, I stayed with them for most of 2009,” Jack informs him. “And they expected my best behavior, reminded me of you, actually.” He smiles sharply at the man, who, to Peter’s shock, grins back at him before taking a sip. “They’ll be in town soon, escaping the dull of the countryside for the thrill of the city in February, can I make a strong recommendation that they should be invited to dinner?”

Kevin hums with interest as Hunter stares at Jack for a long moment. When he notices Peter watching him, he visibly shrugs off the conversation and kisses Bryce on the head. Peter thinks of how hard it must be to make such a good, close friend and have him find love somewhere far away across an ocean and feels his throat tighten. But Hunter had been about to do that, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he been about to leave for the Middle East with some guy?

Kevin’s like Mr. Stark, he has connections around the globe, muses Peter. 

Thinking about Mr. Stark’s connections makes Peter remember that they’re headed to Wakanda today, for the second half of his, uh, atonement. And he still needs to apologize to Mr. Stark, for the deception and the- _naughtiness-_ of letting Kevin’s boys taste the manna juice. As much as he wants to feel nervous about it, he can feel the part of himself that loves that Mr. Stark is going to reclaim him. He may have contracted for Kevin’s supervision for a few days, but he _belongs_ to Mr. Stark. He should be scared, maybe, but mostly, as he bites into his muffin, he’s just coming up grateful that he won’t have to wait long.

Conversation has shifted on to late lunch plans, and whether or not the boys should be allowed to go to the movies later that afternoon. Bryce and Dylan wet their lips and their eyes and put on the best demonstration of abject pleading Peter has ever seen. He’s not surprised when first Jack and then Kevin give in and allow all four to go with Jack to the latest shoot-’em-up action film.

No one extends the offer to Peter, which is fine with Peter, as the boys animatedly recap the first four movies in the series for Jack, who makes the appropriate shocked noises and pretends to care. They’re just getting to the part where the main supervillain reveals that he’s impregnated the hero’s best friend’s mother and is going to be the best friend’s new stepdad, when there’s a chiming noise.

“Elevator,” murmurs Kevin to Peter. “You should go greet your Mr. Stark, bring him here.”

Peter startles and then swallows another sip of tea. “Yes- yes,” he says, his heart thudding as he slides from his chair.

“Eddie, sit,” growls Jack. “They don’t need witnesses.”

“But, Ja-ack,” drawls Eddie. “Ple-ease?”

“Keep your nose out of it,” warns Jack, at the edge of Peter’s hearing already.

He stands in front of the elevator, watching the numbers climb steadily, until it chimes again, and the door opens to Mr. Stark’s impatient glare. “Trouble,” he greets Peter, as Peter flies into his arms, burrowing there. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry,” Peter mutters. “I- I should have said- I should have asked- Kevin says he would have said _yes_ -”

Mr. Stark huffs and says into his hair, “That sounds like Kevin. Nothing he’d like better than an orgy of hot young men to start his year. But _not_ the summer camp I’d send _you_ off to, perfect Peter Parker. You’re _mine.”_

“I didn’t do _anything_ , I swear, Mr. Stark,” Peter promises him, pulling back slightly to look up at him earnestly. “I wouldn’t, I swear, I-” _You didn’t give me permission_ , he wants to tell the man, but that feels like saying, _I would fuck other people if you just gave me permission_ , and that’s not what he means, he _likes_ Mr. Stark’s possessiveness. He likes- he likes that even when Mr. Stark shared him with Pepper, Peter still _belonged_ to Mr. Stark.

“I know you, Trouble-mine,” chuckles Mr. Stark, his severe expression lightening just a little with humor. “You don’t have a cheating bone in your body. You’re too good for any of that. You danced between Nakia and T’Challa for twelve hours, perfect Peter Parker, and then _went to sleep_ with them.”

Peter nods, eagerly, glad that Mr. Stark understands. “Yes, yes, I won’t- I _wouldn’t_.”

“Well. Ramonda and whoever she wants to include have been alerted to our arrival and are waiting for us, Peter. Let’s say your goodbyes and thank yous and jet,” says Mr. Stark, his voice severe once again. Peter nods and reaches for Mr. Stark’s hand, to bring him with, unable to let go of the reassuring presence of the man. Mr. Stark allows himself to be led to the kitchen, where he’s greeted warmly by the assembled crew.

“I cannot believe,” Mr. Stark announces in a dark tone, “that not one single boy here thought to _check in_ with Kevin.”

Peter watches as the boy’s merriment and relaxation fall away, to be replaced with hang-dog looks and hunched postures.

“We’ve discussed it,” says Kevin, as if reassuring and reminding Mr. Stark of the fact. 

“Mm,” agrees Mr. Stark. “I had brought your watches with me, you know,” he says, casually, and Peter watches as the boys wince as one, Eddie’s cheekbones blushing high. “And now I’m not so sure, if you’re not going to help Peter stay out of trouble-”

“Aww, c’mon now, Tony,” chuckles Jack, leaning back, rubbing a hand up and down Dylan’s tense back, “That’s all Dylan’s been talking about, the last month. Can’t dangle a carrot like that forever. And they all of ‘em confessed up right away, took their smacks, been angels ever since.”

“Hunter has a _heart condition_ ,” says Mr. Stark darkly. Peter watches as Hunter winces and Bryce clutches at Hunter’s shirtfront, just a little, cringing. 

“We’ll be good,” says Dylan faintly. “We won’t- nobody got hurt and we’ll be so good,” he promises Mr. Stark. 

Peter winces and slides his hand up Mr. Stark’s arm, tugging the man’s attention back to him. “ _I’m_ the one who brought it,” he tells Mr. Stark, noting that his tone has gone a little pleading. “ _Please_ , Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark looks down at him with dark eyes before nodding, just once, his hands digging in his pockets. Peter isn’t surprised that he hasn’t wrapped the watches or placed them in careful packaging as he tosses them carelessly to the boys- first Bryce and Hunter, then Dylan, and finally, slowly, he dangles the watch in front of Eddie’s face. It’s such a Mr. Stark _signature move_ to take millions of dollars of tech and literally carelessly toss it around. 

“Diamonds, please note, Eddie,” says Mr. Stark ruthlessly. “Dripping with _diamonds_.”

Eddie swallows wetly and breathes, “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Be a very good boy this year, Eddie, mind your manners and don’t cross your consent,” says Mr. Stark, and Eddie may not be able to see his glower, but Peter can, so Peter flinches for Eddie.

“I won’t,” promises Eddie, his voice a touch ragged. “I won’t, Mr. Stark, I- I’ll ask, I- only Kevin, he’s the only one I’ll brat without checking in- only people who want to scene- I-”

“That’s enough,” intones Mr. Stark, dropping the watch. Eddie’s hands fly up to catch it, and then hold it as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. “These are my watches, boys, and I’m trusting you with them,” he says slowly, as all four boys nod their heads cautiously. “I trust you with them because you deserve that trust, the same way you deserve all of the trust and faith you’ve earned with Kevin, and the same way I trust you with the thing that is most precious to me.”

It takes Peter a whole heartbeat to realize Mr. Stark is referring to him, and his cheeks blaze. 

“Continue to earn it,” demands Mr. Stark, clapping Eddie on the shoulder heavily and forcing a squeak from the young man. He grins at Kevin, who blinks and then grins back like a cat who’s just licked cream from its whiskers. He nods at Jack who smiles his sharpest smile back at Mr. Stark and nods back, and then he says brightly, “Peter, your luggage. You have to go _abjectly apologize_ to the Queen Mother of Wakanda, now, and thank God we’ve got a whole flight for your backside to recover from what I’m about to do to it.”

Peter flushes and turns, racing from the room to the guest suite and collecting his luggage, dropping it off at the entryway before entering the kitchen again to the sounds of Mr. Stark demonstrating the tutorial to the whole table using Bryce’s watch. The four younger men look on with rapt attention as Kevin and Jack sip from their mugs and watch fondly, smiling whenever Dylan or Bryce or Eddie shouts, “Flame!” or “This is so lit!”

“Ready?” asks Mr. Stark, one eyebrow raising.

“Yes, sir,” Peter tells him, a little breathless. He walks to Kevin and hugs the man who held him all night, safe and secure. 

“Next time, naughty thing, _ask_ ,” emphasized Kevin with a gentle pat to Peter’s hip and a wry smile. 

“Or don’t,” offers Eddie with a wicked smile, opening his arms for a hug. “It was totally worth it,” he whispers as Peter squeezes him.

Peter leans back and tries to hide his grin from the three Doms simultaneously, as Hunter and Bryce and Dylan swarm him, providing cover. There’s hugging and promises to see each other, and teary-eyed apologies from Dylan one last time, and then there’s Jack, sitting across the table, looking at Peter with a stern expression.

“G-goodbye, Jack,” stutters Peter.

“Kevin swears you’re a good playmate,” says Jack in return, shaking his head and glancing over Peter’s shoulder to where Mr. Stark is standing. “But all I see is someone who can apparently guarantee me some time smacking Dylan’s ass to get him to behave.”

Dylan is flushing as brightly as Peter, his arms still wrapped around Peter’s waist.

“I don’t call him Trouble for nothing,” chuckles Mr. Stark, plucking Peter from Dylan’s embrace with a heavy hand. “So remember that when you invite us to the wedding.”

“Wedding?” squeaks Eddie, head whipping around to Kevin. “What-?”

“Wedding?” asks Dylan faintly, staring at Jack, whose cheeks redden roughly for a moment.

“We’ll talk,” Jack promises him, as Bryce begins to squeal and grabs for Kevin, dragging Hunter with him.

Kevin sighs and covers his eyes for a moment before looking up at Mr. Stark with merriment in his eyes. “Go on, you. Get out, both of you. Perfectly matched for sheer naughty. _Go.”_

Peter swallows a laugh as the boys all begin to talk at once, asking questions and making outrageous declarations and plans, Dylan slipping over to sit on Jack’s lap once more, face still flushed and tinged with more than a little awe.

It’s a nice image to take with him in the long quiet ride down the elevator, Mr. Stark’s frown severe and shocking every time Peter catches a glance of it in the gleaming brass of the elevator’s walls.

What in the _world_ had he been thinking?

What had made him think the manna would be a good idea, a fun, harmless, simple thing?

 _For a genius,_ Peter thinks, narrowing his eyes at his own reflection, _I sure have a lot of dumb ideas._

~~~

The jet hums around them as T’Challa intones, “We shall be ready, TitanTinker.”

“We’ve talked, I’m not answering to that,” Mr. Stark reminds the man as he cuts the connection.

He leans back and lifts his drink, the vibration of the engines making the ice rattle, his eyes trained on the landscape outside.

“Mr. Stark, I-” begins Peter, before falling silent.

Mr. Stark looks up from his thoughts slowly, his gaze as direct and piercing as ever. “Come on, Trouble, follow me, the suite. The door locks.”

Peter’s throat closes on any one of a hundred things he could say, as he follows the man down the hall and into the small bedroom suite on the jet.

“This is the fastest flight in the world,” Mr. Stark growls, “and you won’t want a red ass still glowing when you go to make your apologies to the Wakandan people. So let’s get this started.”

Peter flinches. “Yes, sir,” he says miserably, and adds in a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Good. You should be,” says Mr. Stark severely, turning to sit on the bed and draw Peter down to his knees, framed once more by Mr. Stark’s legs. He cards his hands gently through Peter’s hair and says softly, “You should be, Trouble. I send you away to summer camp _one time_ and you come back with beestings.”

“Don’t- don’t joke,” gasps Peter around the knot of emotions in his throat. “Don’t- I’m _sorry_ , Mr. Stark.”

“I will joke, Mr. Parker, if I want to,” Mr. Stark replies. “I will joke or comment or scold or roar at you, if I want to, _what the hell_ , Peter?”

Peter flinches. “I- I-” he stammers.

“Tell me about what happened after the fight,” Mr. Stark says abruptly, and what does fucking _Bucky Barnes_ have to do with anything?

“Bucky was an asshole and said I was a kid,” spits Peter.

“He called you childish?” asks Mr. Stark, his voice shocked.

Peter squirms in place. “Well, no, he said, he said I should get actual time off because I’m so young.”

“I agree,” Mr. Stark says in a quiet voice.

Peter looks up, stung, his mouth dropping open.

“Peter,” begins Mr. Stark, “what was I doing when I was your age?”

“I don’t-” replies Peter, forehead scrunching as his brain tried to flip through every biography he’d ever watched or read-

“A more accurate question would be _who_ was I doing,” Mr. Stark says ruefully. “You’ve been a superhero since you were 14 years old, Mr. Parker. You’re a superhero 24/7, whether you live in Queens or at the Tower, whether you’re practicing with Nat out at the Compound or sound asleep in my bed, you’re a _superhero_ , Mr. Parker, and you don’t know anything different. Don’t think we don’t see that your grades could have been higher if you hadn’t been out saving lives. Don’t think we don’t all know the sacrifices you have to make, intimately. But most of us got _high school_ , at least, Mr. Parker. Most of us got our teen years untroubled by all the heaviness of saving the world over and over and over again just to have Loki show up and endanger it again. Or Doom. Or whoever.”

Peter’s eyes sting as he spits out, “I’m not a child- I’m just as capable as the rest of you!”

Mr. Stark sighs. “Did he say you weren’t as capable?”

Peter frowns. “No. But it’s _implied-”_

“No, it’s not. Maybe from your point of view, youth equals inexperience equals inability, but my guess is Bucky wasn’t sharing your point of view. He was sharing _mine_ ,” says Mr. Stark as if he’s giving a warning. Peter stares up into his calm, warm brown eyes, his heart pounding as Mr. Stark continues, “You deserve- so many things- my perfect Peter Parker, so many things that we can never give you again. We can’t ever give you anonymity. We can’t ever give you safety, or a carefree night of sleep. We can’t _give you_ so many things, perfect Peter Parker, and you don’t _ask_ for other things.” There’s a pause, as Peter’s mind whirls, thinking about those words. They’re all true. “We can’t give you any of that back, any of that innocence or freedom, and you seem hell-bent on throwing yourself at the worst fires that rage, Peter, fires that make _us_ flinch and wish there was _anyone else_ who could play fireman and put them out. You just fling yourself at them, and give it your all, every time, and Peter-” his hands rise up to cup Peter’s face, his gaze searing and his expression so full of tenderness and pride that it chokes Peter’s breath in his lungs, “-I do admire that about you, you know that right? We all do.”

He waits, until Peter manages a choked, “Yes, sir.”

“We love that about you, and so when you ask for one silly thing- a weekend away, with your friends, Peter, friends that you should be able to make and keep and a little weekend that should be next to nothing to arrange and get through- _we want you to have it_. That’s all, I wasn’t there, but I pulled up the feed because I’m a sneaky, possessive bastard, and that’s all I heard him say. He didn’t want you off the roster because you were a kid, Peter, but because you haven’t been allowed to enjoy the simple things about being 18.” Mr. Stark sounds so sad, but he quirks a small grin. “And I have to go back and apologize to some people, now, call them all up and say, ‘Okay, you were right, I get it now.’ And isn’t that an awful thought?”

“Mr. Stark, I just-” begins Peter.

“Let me guess,” interrupts Mr. Stark smoothly, the grin growing. “You just feel like you have something to prove, like if people start giving you special treatment it means you’ll be left out.”

“I don’t-” begins Peter, and then he falls silent. “They will,” he says quietly, after a long moment. “They will, if you start leaving me off of the roster for some things, it means I’ll stop being called up for other things, it means people have the right to cut me off the roster and put me on the bench and I fought so hard to get _on_ the roster- Aunt May’s in so much more danger now that I’m out and my name’s everywhere and so are all my friends and I just- just-”

“Debatable,” argues Mr. Stark, eyes crinkling just a little. “You weren’t going to keep that secret identity forever, anyway, people love to pick apart a mystery and ruin it and eventually it was going to happen. Your Aunt May’s under the strictest security watch, no different than Pepper or Happy, and you know that’s true. The threats that can get to her now will no longer be the small threats, and while it’s true she may be a target for bigger threats, the even more truer truth is that any person out there could be collateral damage for the big guys. Look at Thanos. That nutjob killed half the universe in all 6 million of the other timelines Strange hopped into- with one snap.”

“I gave up a lot to be an Avenger,” says Peter stubbornly, grinding his teeth and setting his jaw just a little.

“You did,” agrees Mr. Stark, his eyes going grave and cautious. “And your friends- even the asshole ones who don’t know how to say it kindly- just want to make sure we preserve what we can of the rest of what’s left.”

Peter’s eyes sting, and he hangs, caught in that grip. “I don’t- I don’t-”

“No, maybe now isn’t the best time or place to talk more about it,” agrees Mr. Stark gently. “But think about it, okay? I watched the security tapes. I think you might have jumped to a conclusion no one else was making. Steve knows how hard you work and how well you belong on the team, and so do I, and so does Bucky and everyone else on the team. We invited you not to _make_ you ready, but because you were _already_ ready for it.”

Peter blinks, eyes stinging.

“So let’s switch, to _sneaking in_ aphrodisiacs and dosing young men who don’t belong to you, the first time I let you have a sleepover,” says Mr. Stark in a teasing tone of voice. “Please tell me you at least remembered honesty and consent with the young gentlemen?”

“Yes, sir,” says Peter promptly. Stung, he adds, “Of course I did! I wouldn’t _roofie_ my _friends_!”

“No, just that pesky little detail of checking with your partner and theirs,” points out Mr. Stark.

“I didn’t-” Peter bites his lip, remembering the way Kevin had told Mr. Stark, _we’ve discussed it_ , as if that would be the end of the matter. “Kevin already-”

“Yes, Kevin already covered whether or not you’re allowed to be _so very naughty_ under his roof and under his care,” agrees Mr. Stark easily, one single eyebrow flying, “but _we_ will be discussing whether or not lies of omission will be allowed in _our_ relationship.”

Peter drowns under the sinking feeling that hits his chest, as Mr. Stark’s thumbs stroke his cheeks. “We will not allow them,” he predicts miserably.

“We won’t?” asks Mr. Stark, his voice mocking.

Peter’s hands fly up to wrap around Mr. Stark’s wrists as he sighs, “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. I think that would be the _worst_ idea, actually, Mr. Stark. I don’t- I think actions should have consequences.”

“Who do you owe honesty to, Mr. Parker?” asks Mr. Stark quietly, his eyes searching Peter’s face.

“I- everyone?” asks Peter, confused.

Mr. Stark barks a laugh. “There is a very long list of why that’s a bad idea, and I’ll mention that you need it to Natasha sometime, or- or Clint, and I’ll let them sort you out. _No_ , Mr. Parker, you don’t owe it to everyone. Let me put it a different way. Who do you trust to help you _no matter what_ to make the right decisions?”

“You,” breathes Peter, and then, forehead wrinkling, “And Pepper. And, um, Steve. May? I guess? Although she freaks out about so much, probably- not no matter what.”

“Pepper freaks out,” points out Mr. Stark with a smile.

“Not like May,” disagrees Peter with an answering smile.

“Point taken. Those are the people you trust to help you no matter what, to make the right decision. And if they’re working from faulty data?”

“They- _can’t_ ,” says Peter slowly.

“Then those are the people you owe absolute honesty to, Mr. Parker,” says Mr. Stark with satisfaction. “Leaving aside the many, many talks we have had about honesty between the two of us. I knew sending you to Kevin’s for an entire weekend and stepping away would end in a blazing backside- you are so _predictable_ sometimes, Mr. Parker- but I hadn’t considered illicit drug use on the long list of things I thought possible.”

“I am not _predictable_ ,” argues Peter hotly, cheeks flushing.

Mr. Stark’s eyebrows both fly then, as Peter’s cheeks flush brighter.

“So, when you were spanked for being _so naughty_ by Kevin last night, that was for what happened between you and Kevin last night, but what about the trust I put in you to behave yourself while I was gone?” asks Mr. Stark. 

“You said you could _predict_ that I’d get in trouble,” protests Peter, rearing back angrily.

“But I had hoped you wouldn’t,” Mr. Stark confesses, shrugging his shoulders. “And that manna juice was a gift from me to you. I feel somewhat responsible.”

“You just want to spank me,” Peter says bitterly.

“I do,” agrees Mr. Stark. “I want to spank you and chide you the whole time for being so reckless and thoughtless and I want to hear you say over and over again that it won’t happen again and that you’re only going to be good for me, forever.” There’s a long breathless pause and then he shrugs and adds, “Sue me. I want what I want.”

“Mr. Stark,” breathes Peter, staring up at the man, “I’m not going to sue.”

“You aren’t?” asks Mr. Stark, a grin twisting his lips. “Well, color me shocked, I never would have _guessed_ , Mr. Parker, that _America’s sweetheart_ would be into _punishment spankings_.”

“I thought I was predictable?” teases Peter, his heart racing.

“I just know you so well, it feels that way,” Mr. Stark assures him, the hands cupping Peter’s chin drifting down to settle on his shoulders and rub there. “No time like the present to make things right between us, up, up, Trouble,” he directs.

“Mr. Stark,” complains Peter, but he’s already rising, already reaching for the button to his jeans to pop it, already feeling his heart race.

“No, we’ve both agreed you _deserve_ it, we’ve established consent on both sides, we’re all being really very precisely honest right now, and I want to smack your ass until you promise me I’ll never have to take another phone call from Kevin while I’m far away and can’t fly over there to straighten you out myself,” growls Mr. Stark in his habitual flood of words.

Peter winces and squirms as he drapes himself over Mr. Stark’s lap. “I don’t- I _am_ sorry about that, Mr. Stark. I mean, I’m sorry about- ouch!- everything,” he gasps, as Mr. Stark’s hand begins to fall heavily. “And Kevin wasn’t- eep!- _bad_ , but he wasn’t- ah!- _you,_ and I wanted _you_!”

“Good, you should want me, I’m much better at this than he is. He’s an old man, Mr. Parker, and I am in the prime of my life and I am more. than. a. match. for. you, Trouble,” declares Mr. Stark, punctuating every word with a series of hard slaps that leave Peter reeling.

“‘m _sorry_ ,” wheezes Peter.

“Good. You should be,” agrees Mr. Stark, his hand falling just as confidently and stridently as before. “You messed up, you should be sorry. Open your mouth and _ask_ , if Kevin didn’t cover that one. I can’t help you make good decisions if I don’t know your plans.”

Peter lets his head hang down low and says miserably, “No, he covered- ouch!- that. Thoroughly!”

“Well allow me to add my own punctuation,” grumbles Mr. Stark, before falling silent and letting his hand carry the conversation.

It goes on and on, Peter yelping and flinching and promising to _ask_ before doing anything, which is maybe overkill but his butt is definitely reporting that overkill was better than _not offering enough_ to the madman attacking it with single minded ferocity. “Please, please,” begs Peter breathlessly, his voice raw, as the hand begins to slow.

Mr. Stark doesn’t even sound winded as he asks, “Yes, Mr. Parker? Please what?”

“‘m sorry,” begs Peter. “I _won’t_! Please! I’ll be good!”

Mr. Stark makes an amused noise and then, miraculously, his hand settles on Peter’s backside gently, resting and rubbing there. “Do you know, I do believe you’ve probably learned this lesson. Let’s test it. If you get the idea to, oh, I don’t know, have Ned and MJ back to the Compound for Spring Break, assuming they all match up which is never a given, I understand. I digress. If they come for a visit, and spring is in the air and you’re feeling like celebrating with some dancing, _who will you come to before you drug your friends, Peter?”_

“You!” yelps Peter. “You, I’ll come talk to you! I promise, Mr. Stark, I knew it- I knew I was being sneaky and I was doing it deliberately and I’m all done with that!”

“Hm. Well,” sighs Mr. Stark, his hand caressing the hot, tight skin of Peter’s butt. “ _All done_ means we’d never land here and I, for one, don’t _predict_ you’ll be able to keep that New Year’s resolution.”

Peter makes a wounded noise and Mr. Stark tips a little to one side on the bed, stretching out and tilting Peter up to make eye contact. He grins and says, “Because we like what we like, Peter, the two of us. And so _my_ New Year’s resolution is going to be, if you _do_ come seeking this kind of attention out, I’ll make sure you get everything you’re looking for, Trouble. Of the two of us, I give myself much higher statistical odds of keeping my resolution.”

Peter nods breathless agreement and then burrows in as Mr. Stark pulls him up onto the bed and into the older man’s arms. “‘m sorry,” he whispers again.

“No one got hurt this time,” Mr. Stark tells him, after a long minute. “It wasn’t _smart_ and it wasn’t _honest_ and it wasn’t _considerate_ or any of the other things I love about you, but we’re done, we’ve settled it between us. Save the rest of your apologies for Ramonda.” There’s a long pause and then a hint of smile in his voice as he adds, “ _Or T’Challa.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life is kicking my ass right now, and that means my posting schedule is borked to high hell, but the next chapter is in editing and we'll see how soon I can get it posted- HOPEFULLY it will be posted and ready for your review prior to the actual new year, lol!

**Author's Note:**

> Come meet me in the comment section with a list of your demands (I seriously have a list of all the plotbunnies people have farmed off to me because I love new ideas), but keep it cool with the critiquing, guys, I'm new*. Compliment sandwiches WORK. You can also find me hanging around on the WriterBuddies Discord server, in the TW section with all the rest of the nasties: [WriterBuddies](https://discord.gg/4KWWccK)
> 
> I'm clearly alive and doing well, but my daily writing time has been completely slashed and hacked to just a trickle of words when there used to be time for a torrent. I'm not abandoning anything, but there's also no good way to warn y'all that I will be a little absent, so assume everything will be unscheduled until life changes and I'm able to devote 3+ hours to writing/editing per night, again.
> 
> *Yay! Almost a full year! I can't remember life before writing! But I can't remember last month, so, there's that, too.


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